Protege
by RIPQuattro
Summary: Gene finds a kindred spirit in Dan Hartley, a new DI at Fenchurch. Both men begin to learn from one-another, but will this be enough to allow Gene to put his demons behind him and finally come to rest? Will his burden ever be lifted? GALEX. Please review!
1. Prologue: One Head Strong Copper

_Fenchurch East CID, 3rd August 2010_

"For the last time, Hartley, No!"

"But I know it's him, Guv, I know it!"

"Knowing isn't good enough Detective _Sergeant_" retorted DCI Clement. Dan noticed the pointed emphasis upon his rank, although it did nothing to cool his temper, on the contrary, Dan felt the familiar rush of adrenalin that preceded a good punch up.

"It's him. I know it's him. Guv, you've got to see, it's got Malone's fingerprints all over it!"

Clement ran a weary hand down his face and turned back to the man now breathing heavily, fists upon his desk and staring at his superior with furious intensity.

"Well I tell you what Hartley, you find me those prints, you find me the tiniest shred of evidence and I'll be behind you all the way. Until then, I don't want to hear any more about it. You understand me?"

"Well how the hell am I supposed to find evidence if I can't have a bloody warrant?" Dan cursed, his voice rising dangerously.

"You need to control your temper, Detective," said Clement, coolly. "Won't look good on your appraisal that, will it?"

"Fuck my appraisal!" Dan shouted, turning on his heel and leaving Clement's office angrily, letting the door slam behind him.

Dan sat moodily at his desk, fingering his stapler and pouting. The sound of keyboards clicking as the room typed, seemingly in unison, filled his head, polluting him, the noise boring into his mind like an ever present drill into his brain.

He looked frustrating over at Emily Robins, a round-faced, middle aged colleague, her eyes focused upon the screen before her, typing expertly, each finger keeping to its specified domain on the keyboard, oblivious to the rhythmic tapping that was bothering Dan so much. She caught his eye and looked over, wondering why he was staring at her. He averted his eyes and continued push the stapler around the wooden surface.

"What's going on in there Dan?" she asked, leaning across her desk and smiling pleasantly.

"I'm sick of it," Dan muttered, still not looking up.

"What, love?"

"Pussy footing around…paperwork...we're the bloody Met! We should scare the shit out of 'em all. The scumbags. The murderers. We should be out on the streets rounding 'em up, not pissing about here with bloody laptops and chemicals."

"Well…" Emily looked away, steeling herself for the inevitable onslaught. "Speaking as your friend Dan…I can sort of see the Guv's problem with it…you can -not often though!- be a little… a little cavalier."

Dan looked at her inquisitively. She lowered her eyes in fear of his retort; he was known for his blunt approach to life and the ability to overreact at the slightest thing. After several moments, he spoke quietly, voice wavering dangerously.

"Cavalier?"

He stood up suddenly, Emily's eyes still upon him, full of concern, as he turned to leave wordlessly.

"Where are you going, Dan?"

"Malone." He murmured, not turning around, adding, before she could interrupt. "Just to talk to him. I can do that can't I?" He said, with more venom than he had intended. Emily didn't answer. Dan crossed to the door, negotiating his way round the many desks of CID. Emily shook her head and resumed the clicking of the keys.

* * *

Dan walked down Station Road three hours later, the very picture of a man on a mission. He checked his phone. 19:45. He rounded the corner, focusing his eyes upon Malone's house, walking with purpose, anger bubbling within him. It was Malone. It had to be Malone, and he was stuck asking him questions. Going round to his house, acting all 'Good Cop, Good Cop,' meeting on Malone's terms. He should be dragging him down to the station by his knackers. Eva Robinson stab herself, did she? Throw herself into the river after carving _'whore' _into her own forehead, did she?

Malone did it. Dan had never been more sure of anything as long as he lived.

Dan stood in Malone's living room, having refused his snide offer to sit down.

"Eva was a friend of yours, wasn't she Arthur?"

Malone looked up, heavy lidded eyes raking the object of their scrutiny.

"Friendly enough to knife her and chuck her in the river, anyway."

"That's dangerous talk DS Hartley, don't you think? Not sure your boss'd like that, would he?" Malone smirked. "Cup of tea, detective?"

"Don't push me Malone!"

"Or what? You gonna beat me up? What's one head-strong copper gonna do? You've got nothing on me and you bloody well know it!"

A beat passed in which Malone and Dan stared at each other from opposite corners of the room, the latter seething with anger, the former calm and supercilious.

"Thank you Mr Malone. I think I've got everything I need. No need to show me out." Dan crossed the room in two strides, but Malone stood in his way, the smallest hint of a grin playing about his lips.

"Oh no Mr Hartley, allow me, I'm nothing if not well mannered."

Dan stepped back and grudgingly allowed Malone to open the door for him and usher him out into the hallway.

"Forgive me, Detective," drawled Malone as he opened the front door of the flats for Dan, holding it for him in mock subservience, "but I'm sure you'll understand why I hope we don't have any further dealings."

"Oh really. That's funny," replied Dan sarcastically. "I was under the impression you and me were going to be seeing a lot more of one another."

_Malone turned the miniature Swiss army knife over in his pocket as the copper spoke. With one thumb, he slid the corkscrew from inside and put it between his index and middle finger, balling his hand into a fist as he did so. _

Dan turned to leave, lifting his foot onto the top step. He looked out into the street for the briefest moment before…

_Malone tore his fist out of his pocket, and punched the copper just above the nape of the neck, feeling metal pierce flesh, then bone, feeling the familiar rush of warm scarlet behind his fingers. The copper fell straight forward heavily, limp as a rag doll. Malone watched as he landed with a thump and slid down the remaining few stairs, finally stopping to lie sprawled on the pavement. He had never killed in a single blow before. He felt a warm glow of satisfaction as he watched the blood pour from the wound. _


	2. Chapter 1: Back To The fucking Future

"_Danny Boy?"_

_The five year old stirred._

"_Danny. Wake up darling, Daddy needs to speak to you."_

_Blearily the child rubbed his eyes, reluctantly shaking off the last remnants of sleep, resolving instead to roll over, holding his teddy tightly to his chest._

"_Danny. It's about mummy," the boy looked up, "you remember I said mummy was poorly, that she might be going away? Well mummy's been poorly for a long while now hasn't she?"_

_Dan nodded._

"_She gone to somewhere better now, we won't be able to see her again, not for a long while now, but she'll be happier there, she won't be hurting any more like she did here."_

"_Is she in Heaven Daddy?"_

"_Yes Darling."_

"_Like the hamster?"_

"_Yes Darling. She'll be up there feeding him biscuits."_

"_Why are you crying Daddy?"_

"_Because we don't have mummy any more, we're going to miss her aren't we?"_

"_Yeah. Can we have eggs for breakfast?"_

_The figure of a bespectacled man stepped from the shadows and engulfed the scene._

_Station Road, 3__rd__ August 1988_

Dan awoke. His head buzzed as he squinted into the sunlight, feeling like he'd just attended the piss-up of his life. Dan registered vaguely the warmth of the sun, when he could have sworn, just moments ago, it was overcast at best. He suddenly became aware of the sound of drills and the hum of cement mixers.

"Oi! D'you wanna get tarmaced in or what?"

"What?" Dan sat up to be greeted by utter devastation. Station Road was bomb site. The houses all around him were gone, only their foundations remaining and what seemed like walls were springing up all around.

"I said shift! What are you, a spastic?"

Dan looked straight ahead, dumbstruck, to see a man in a hard hat laying tarmac where Dan was sure a road had been before.

Dan muttered something in vague reply and began to pull himself off the ground, his head spinning and his mind racing. He searched his pockets frantically.

"Where the hell's my phone?"

Dan looked up at the builder, taking out his warrant card. The builder squinted at his ID

"Have you got a mobile I could borrow?"

"You what?"

"A phone? A mobile phone?"

"You what _Detective Inspector,_" he sneered._ "_You think I've got a mobile phone? We're not all from Westminster, _prick_."

"Inspector? I'm a Sergeant, shit brain."

"Just bugger off Officer."

Dan looked from the man to his warrant card, looking dumbly at the words printed there. _Daniel Hartley, Detective Inspector, Metropolitan Police 1988_. He turned on his heel and staggered away.

He'd got halfway down the road when he noticed his clothes. A pinstriped turtleneck jumper and a brown leather jacket.

"What the …?"

* * *

The office seemed like the sensible place to go. As he hurried down corridors and belted up stairs he hardly noticed the surroundings had changed almost beyond recognition. He was preoccupied by the silence of it all, the absence of the clicking of keyboards that until recently had been the norm. He burst through the double doors.

The computers were gone. Emily had gone. His stapler was gone! Dan stood open mouthed in the doorway, staring around at the room that had inexplicably changed so much in what felt like half hour. A voice from the opposite end of the room rang out in the silence.

"Hartley?" Dan nodded. "Don't just stand there with your mouth open, you'll give Woodall here the horn."

A soft featured young man to Dan's right looked down at his desk dejectedly.

"My office, now Inspector."

On command, Dan walked across the room almost robotically.

The office was gloomy. The man sat behind his desk and surveyed Dan, sipping from a glass of whisky. He gestured towards the bottle and an empty glass in invitation. Dan stayed standing.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Nice to meet you too. Dan is it? Can I call you Danny?"

"No."

"Sit down Danny."

Dan sat, though reluctantly.

"So who are you? What am I doing here? Why does it say 88 on my warrant card? I'm not an Inspector and why do I look like an extra from Back To The-fucking-Future?"

"Well it seems you've had a promotion, so I'd shut up if I were you, you picky wanker."

"Who the hell are you to call me anything?"

"I'm your DCI, Gene Hunt, some call me Guv or Sir, although you can call me God. Though any of the above address will do."

"Arsehole."

In an instant Hunt had grabbed his lapels and pinned him to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. Gene began to breathe irregularly, muttering threatingly, daring Dan to make the slightest move.

"D'you want to rephrase that Inspector?"

Dan stared resolutely back into his eyes, unblinking.

"Sorry. _Mr _Arsehole."

Gene paused, considering the face that was just an inch away from his own.

"I like you. But be a good lad and don't let Woodall see this, he'll think it's a free-for-all."

As Gene let go of Dan's jacket he seemed to deflate, no longer preparing for a fight.

"Now piss off out there and do some bloody work."


	3. Chapter 2: Strange New World

**A/N: After posting the prologue (chapter 1) we realised that would then class our chapter one as 2 and so on. We mean for this chapter to be Chapter 2, so please attempt to follow our numbering system.**

It was getting late. Dan stared unblinkingly at the clock above the door, before letting out a breath of air. 19:55. The pain in the back of his neck was beginning to get unbearable now; despite the ache that had been present throughout most of the day, the pain had grown steadily worse over these last couple of hours.

The day itself had been simple enough: a relatively uncomplicated crime and subsequent clean-up, held together by a couple of painkillers and several cups of coffee.

Dan hadn't seen much of his DCI after their 'meeting' that morning; he'd spent most of the day holed up in his office, staring into space and occasionally sipping from a glass of whiskey.

He couldn't really find it within himself to care today. He was confused, puzzled and in pain, still trying to work out what he truly thought about Gene Hunt. The four things didn't marry together very well he decided, and therefore he was left perplexed about the man holding up the department.

After assisting his new team in solving the crime, Dan had spent the rest of day actually getting to know them. He still didn't know how the hell he'd ended up in 1988, if that really was where he was, not some sort of practical joke made to mystify him, but he figured that these people were nice enough. They weren't Emily though…

Scott Woodall seemed really pleasant; a friendly DC who Dan knew had the capacity to work his way up the ranks quickly due to his natural flair. His Detective Sergeant, Allan Lloyd, was excellent at making quick decisions and Dan was glad that he had his experience on his side. WPC Evelyn Baxter, or Lyn as she preferred to be known, was the ever-present glue that held them all together: she might have been slightly under-appreciated by the more senior members of CID, but Dan was sure that without her, the close-knit department would fall apart.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dan was drawn out of his reminiscing by a sudden stabbing at his nape. His eyes widened at the paroxysm of pain and he fell forward, head slumped on his desk. With another twinge of his muscles he involuntarily let out a gasp that stuck in his throat, making him choke.

The image of a sneering man with close-cropped hair floated to the front of his pain-fuzzed brain. _Malone._ The hatred rushed through his veins, making his head pound wildly and he let out a gasping cough. The image of the pavement rising up to meet him filled his consciousness and he spluttered madly, before opening his eyes sharply moments before he collided with the ground.

DC Woodall looked in his direction at the third strangled cough that was emitted from Dan. He registered the white, shaking form of his DI drooped across his desk and jumped quickly to his feet, hurrying over to him.

"DI Hartley!" he cried as he lifted him, helping him to sit up. "What's happened? Are you okay?"

Dan mumbled something unintelligible, but after noting Woodall's panic-stricken face he managed to give a short nod, hoping to reassure the young man.

"Lyn!" he shouted across the room. "Can you get the DI a glass of water? Now!"

After a couple of sips, Dan trusted himself to speak.

"Thank you Woodall, Baxter," he managed with nod towards them, not quite sure what to call them but deciding to stick to surnames; that was safe he reasoned.

Lyn simply nodded back shyly and made her way back to her desk, piled high with paperwork.

Scott smiled fractionally, the remnants of panic still etched on his face.

"You don't look well Sir, if you don't mind me saying so," he muttered concerned. "Do you want some help getting home?"

Dan was about to politely decline, but then the realisation that he didn't actually know where his home _was_ in this place hit him. So he simply nodded and allowed Scott to help him up and begin to manoeuvre him towards the door, deciding to figure that bit out while they were on their way. He just prayed that his DCI didn't see the pair of them leave the room: the way he was leaning on Woodall would most probably result in some sort of rude and inappropriate jibe directed at the young DC if he did.

* * *

He'd gotten back to his flat easily enough with Woodall's help. To Dan's surprise it was _his_ flat, the one that he'd occupied for many years back in 2010, while he'd been completing his training and beginning work in CID. He hadn't known that it'd been built before the 1980s and even though it was shabbier than he remembered, he was still glad it existed; it meant at least one constant in this strange new world.

He at least felt a bit better now. The throbbing in his neck had reduced considerably and the pounding in his head was only minimal. Dan stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror above the bathroom sink, noting how pale he looked. Tentatively he ran his fingers over the nape of his neck, puzzled as to what had happened in 2010.

The only conclusion he could come to, helped along by the hazy images earlier, was that Malone had stabbed him with something. The bastard. Dan had known he couldn't be trusted. He had known that Malone killed Eva Robinson. He had known it, he trusted his gut instinct. But apparently that hadn't been enough for his namby-pamby, 'must have forensic evidence' DCI.

_If he'd just trusted me this once,_ Dan seethed, _I wouldn't be in this bloody mess_. _I'd be at home, in 2010. And Malone would be banged up; he'd have no more victims; another criminal would be stopped; the streets would be safer again._

He pounded the sink angrily with his fists, ignoring the stinging pain that shot through his fingers upon impact with the grubby, cold porcelain.

The fact that he could feel the object, feel the pain that it delivered, puzzled Dan slightly. He couldn't understand how 1988 felt so real to him. He'd only been five when he'd experienced it the first time around, so he couldn't understand how his imagination, if that's what it was, (it _couldn't_ be real could it?), could create something so hugely realistic and just so _completely_ 80s.

Staring at his pallid reflection in the cracked mirror, he positioned himself so that the spindly shards criss-crossed over his face, distorting his features. He sighed loudly, before voicing his fears to the warped reflection in front of him.

"Is this real?"


	4. Chapter 3: The Grubby Glass

**A/N: Just a head's up, every odd chapter is from Gene's POV and every even one is from Dan's. Please R+R**

The flat was reasonably pleasant; it was certainly big enough, in fact, it would be quite desirable should he put it on the market. On paper, it sounded ideal: three bedrooms, a five minute walk from the town centre and one of the best schools in the area just down the road. The flat would have been perfect for a young family, but for him, it just didn't feel like home.

Gene hadn't felt like he was truly home since leaving Manchester. Perhaps for a brief period five or six years ago he had felt more attached to the place than before, but that had quickly waned.

Beer cans and cigarette butts littered the living room floor, the evidence of many a night's sorrow drowning. In amongst it all, Gene sat in a threadbare armchair, a fag in one hand, and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other.

He took a draught, lowered his hand and began to swirl the glass, watching the amber liquid ripple, undulating against the sides of the grubby glass. He inhaled tobacco smoke deeply, thinking of happier times. His current team was good, yes, but they weren't the best. He'd seen many come and go, but none before or since had been a patch upon CID from 1981-'83. They all left him in the end.

He had been through a rough patch after their departure. His days had consisted of a rather apathetic approach to policing, and his nights were, more often than not, spent in one scummy boozer or another, drinking himself into oblivion.

One such night, about a week after their leaving, Gene had been desperate, wanting to find some small memento, something that proved they, (or rather, she) had been there at all. Shaz's abandoned flat seemed the best option. He arrived there, leaning on the door frame heavily, massaging his temples as the world seemed to spin.

After mentally preparing himself, Gene had begun to thrust his shoulder into the door, staggering slightly after each blow: the door would not budge, but neither would his intense need to see beyond it. Gene had closed his eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths, deciding upon one final push. With all the strength he could muster, he put all his bodyweight behind the blow, ramming into the door again.

With a bang, the door shot open, ricocheting off the wall beside it, sending bits of broken door everywhere. Gene stepped inside.

The first thing he had noticed were the pictures. Dozens of photographs were attached to the wall, framed, or in piles on every available surface. Many Shaz's grinned down at him, often accompanied by one or more other person; he recognised Chris from a great number of the photos, and even spotted himself in one, hunched in his black coat, scowling at having his picture taken.

All these had been eclipsed in a second however, by a single framed photo on the far side of the room. Gene swept over to it and picked it up in his gloved hand. He stared for a moment before, still holding the photograph, he left.

Presently, the same photograph sat on the same coffee table in front of him. All around it there lay a thick layer of dust; the frame and glass were however, left untarnished, in stark contrast to everything else around them. Gene took another swig from the glass and reached for the photo, an action that had become habitual, almost a ritual.

Alex Drake smiled up at him, her eyes frozen forever more in laughter. Her arms were wide in a 'tah-dah' motion, the better for the camera to see her new party dress. Gene remembered that dress.

"_I'm not going to a bloody Christmas party." _

"_Come on Guv, where's your Christmas spirit?"_

"_Up me arse."_

"_You do have a lovely turn of phrase," she grinned cheekily. "Come on Gene, I've got a new dress." He grunted, sounding uncommitted. "And, well for your information Gene, it's quite short. In fact, I'm glad you're not coming, I can imagine how prudish you'd be if you just so happened to see a bit too much." He looked up now; she had successfully got his attention._

"_How short?"_

"_Oh it's short. You can see my ovaries." Alex giggled._

"_Fine then." he had sighed, trying not to sound too eager. _

Gene studied her face yet again. Retracing the familiar lines he knew by heart.

They had all known it. It was clear that she'd fancied the pants off him. They couldn't hide it; to Gene she was like no other woman in the world. She had puzzled him: even while they were arguing he had enjoyed himself; a day had felt incomplete without at least one row.

He was sure that she had never understood the depth of his feelings, and he had never been able to tell her. Wherever she was, he hoped she knew that he missed her. He wondered what it was like there, if she was with friends. With Shaz. And Chris. Ray.

He had had it all planned, somewhere in the back of his mind, subconsciously laying out his future for two. If they had spent just that little bit longer together, he would have made a move, and everything would've been fine. But all of a sudden, the wind had changed direction and that big, black, Keats-shaped cloud had come rolling into his perfect sky.

He knew now that he was destined to remain here forever. There would be no retirement. Those pints waiting for him in the Railway Arms would remain un-drunk for all eternity. He was needed here. Could he seriously leave an innocent public in the hands of his current CID?

They were alright, yes, but most were satisfied to just sit around doing paperwork and one-or-two, especially the women, were suckers for that psychiatry crap that Bolly and Sam had been oh-so-fond of. Gene was different, he had died wanting to be the big man, revered by coppers for miles around and feared by the scum.

And here he was. Old, alone and pissed in an armchair that had come from a charity shop.

"Be careful what you wish for, ay?" He slurred into the darkness, before letting his head loll to one side and his hand to go limp, pouring the remaining whiskey onto the carpet.

He fell into a fitful sleep, filled with disjointed, disturbing dreams. Many involved a bespectacled man in a trench coat.

"_I'm not finished here Hunt."_


	5. Chapter 4: On A Mission

**A/N: Slightly smaller chapter this time, the action kicks off next chapter. Please R+R!**

* * *

"_My name is Daniel Hartley. I was stabbed and found myself in 1988. Is it real, or in my mind? Either way, I have to solve the mystery of what all this means, and then maybe, just maybe, I can get home..."_

* * *

Dan awoke suddenly to the shrill noise of his alarm clock, frenetically shaking the rickety bedside table to his left-hand side. His already pounding headache became increasingly worse as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, before hitting the snooze button on the clock and sitting up, rubbing his neck sleepily. The pain had slowly ebbed away during last night, leaving him feeling only slightly woozy, so Dan decided to go into the office and continue working; hoping that something might straighten this crazy thing out. Maybe he had to catch Malone here, in this time-period, and then that would mean he couldn't be stabbed by him in 2010.

Shaking his head frantically to clear the confusion clogging his brain, Dan climbed out of bed and reached for a towel, heading into the bathroom to have a quick shower before work, hoping it might refresh him enough to get him through the day without any painkillers.

Closing the bathroom door, he missed the dark shadow that passed briefly over the room.

* * *

The door of CID swung open violently as Gene Hunt marched in, before striding across the room and slamming the door to his partitioned office shut. Dan looked up, startled at his DCI's aggressive entrance. Noticing the other members of the team continuing with what they were doing as if there was no interruption, Dan deduced that this must be the Guv's regular entrance. He looked down at his desk, rolling his eyes and preparing himself for the inevitable onslaught he was about to receive by going and talking to him. He welcomed it.

Gene raised his eyes from the tarnished wood of his desk, pausing slightly to eye-up the arrival of his new DI.

"Can I help you?" he grunted, gruffly.

"Are you always so grumpy?"

Gene glared at the man now closing the door, sensing the air of someone on a mission.

Dan raised an eyebrow, aiming to rile his DCI up, make him angry. Gene struck him as someone who would fight back; who would beat someone to within an inch of their life if the cause so demanded it. Dan admired that, so sick he was of tiptoeing around, obeying the law and letting the scum get the upper hand.

"Someone obviously hasn't had a shag in a while," Dan muttered at the lack of reply, hoping to anger him.

At this, Gene propelled himself to his feet, lunging around his desk and grabbing Dan by his lapels for the second time in two days.

"You better take that back, Danny Boy, if you want your head to stay attached to your neck," Gene threatened, madly, desperately trying to clear the image of Alex and that last, terribly chaste kiss, from his anger-clouded brain.

"I don't have a particular preference," Dan gritted his teeth as he received a dull blow to the stomach. "Go on then, hit me again."

The brief scuffle ended in both of them sitting on the floor, propped up by Gene's desk, and clutching various sore parts; Dan pressed his stomach tentatively and Gene massaged his jaw. A gruff acknowledgement rose from Gene's lips.

"Yer not bad, I'll give yer that."

Dan nodded breathlessly.

"You're definitely better than my last DCI," he grinned, turning his head and catching Gene's eyes. "We'll talk, soon. I need to know what's going on here. Why I'm here."

Gene simply nodded, studying his DI, wondering how much he could actually tell this young man.

Before he could speak again, a scream issued from the main office.


	6. Chapter 5: The Poof will Die

"Oh what now?" growled Gene as he and Dan picked themselves up off the office floor. Gene opened the door in his usual overly violent fashion, and stepping out into the office, he analyzed the scene which lay before him, narrowing his eyes as they fell on the small crowd which had formed with a still shaking Lyn at it's centre.

"It's…Oh my God. It's him. It's his, it's definitely his…" She stammered, staring down at the small black wallet she had flung onto the desk in shock. It glistened unpleasantly with a spattering of a glutinous scarlet substance. Gene parted the circle of stunned detectives with one sweep of his leather-clad hand and stood directly beside the trembling Lyn. He crouched down beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"What is it, love?"

"It came in the post. It's his Guv…it's Scott's…it's his warrant card… He's not here, I thought he were off ill! And inside it Guv!" She dissolved into sobs as Gene patted her, awkwardly.

"Oi, you!" Gene barked to Allan, who looked up, worriedly at this abrupt address. "Get this lady a cup of tea. Good for shock. Four sugars." The younger detective nodded, moving swiftly over to the crying woman and, guiding her gently by the elbow, led her out of the room.

Gene opened the wallet with just the tips of his thumb and fore-finger in an attempt to touch as little of it as possible. Inside was a clump of fair hair matted and covered in blood, almost obscuring the name on the warrant card. '_Scott Woodall. Metropolitan Police.'_

"It's his hair, isn't it?" Until now, Gene had not noticed Dan leaning over his shoulder.

"Looks like it." Gene muttered, carefully closing the back cover, to see a message carved roughly into the leather: _'The poof will die.'_

Gene straightened up and addressed the team as a whole. "Right. Get this down the forensics, pronto." a DS complied, using his jacket to pick up the bloody warrant card before following Lyn and Allan out of the double doors. Gene continued.

"Right. There's a chance one of our own is in trouble. I want all hands on deck. I want friends, I want family, I want his bra size. I want everything you know about 'im." He stared around at the sea of blank faces before him. "Oh come on! Where did he drink? Where'd he live? Give me something!" spat Hunt.

"Eh…" Piped up a young woman. "He didn't really speak to us that much Guv. Not about himself anyway."

"Wonder why?" Muttered Dan, mutinously, causing Gene to turn to face him abruptly, his look dangerous.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He said, his voice the low rumble of a brewing storm.

"I don't think I'd open up either if I was scared half to death of my shithead of a DCI taking the piss every five minutes because of what I do in the bedroom."

"He's a big boy. He can cope." Said Gene through gritted teeth

"It's bullying and you know it!"

"And this isn't the school playground! We're the bloody Met!"

"Yeah, and he has the right to work without being picked on by an insecure, sexually frustrated cunt like you!" Dan's fists clenched in fury as his voice rose to a shout.

The tension in the room was palpable, CID looked on apprehensively at the two men stood facing one another, Gene's blood boiling almost visibly as Dan continued.

"You know what Hunt? I bet when you were younger you had your doubts, didn't you? That's why you're so shit to him. Makes you feel like a big man does it? You only do it because you were confused yourself, I bet. I bet it scares you shitless just thinking about it." Dan had apparently struck a nerve, as Gene lashed out wildly, a fist heading full pelt towards Dan's face.

Dan grabbed Gene's wrist and held it fast as he looked into the livid eyes of the man now breathing heavily before him.

"Not nice, is it Gene?" Said Dan, his voice softer now. "Being picked on. Imagine that every day." A moment passed in which the two men stared one another out, each daring the other to make the slightest move. Gene broke the ferocious eye contact, and wrenched himself out of Dan's grip, stomping across to his office, slamming the door with such force that the entire room trembled.

Gene sat with his arms folded on the swivel chair, turned moodily from the rest of CID, and turning the chair this way and that, lost in thought. He knew that Dan had just been trying to anger him in order to prove a point, but he had also succeeded in bringing uneasy memories to the forefront of Gene's mind.

At the age of thirteen, Gene's friends made lecherous comments about girls in their class or female teachers, he had joined in, yes, but had never truly understood what they meant. To him, girls were just girls. He hadn't found breasts in the least bit appealing at that point, never mind anything else. It had worried him, and his young mind had rationalised that, surely, if he was not attracted to women, he must be attracted to men. These disturbing thoughts had plagued him for months, although, just as he had with women, he also felt no pull towards members of his own gender.

It had come as a massive relief, therefore, when Gene had spotted Sophie Raymes, a new student at his secondary school. Her 'charms' had been enough to convince him of his heterosexuality, and the whole incident had been pushed to the very corner of his mind, out of the way.

Dan's remarks, however, had brought all those memories back to the surface, and although Gene was furious that an inferior officer had even dreamed of talking to him in such a way, many of Dan's comments rang true. Maybe Gene had took out his own issues on Woodall and, of course, gay people in general.

This uncomfortable revelation was interrupted however, (although Gene was far from resentful) when a tentative knock came from the office door.

"What?" The door opened, although Gene did not turn around, so Dan instead addressed Gene's back.

"Eh…I think I might have been a bit out of order there." Gene grunted in response. "I've…eh….I've found out where Scott lives, if you're interested. He lives with a bloke called Harry." Gene stood, wordlessly, catching Dan's eye briefly, giving him a curt nod as they left the office.

* * *

56 Avon Road was a modest semi-detached affair, and as Dan put out a hand to knock on the door, Gene played with his tie nervously.

"I hate this bit."

The door was opened by a tall, kind faced effeminate looking man, who looked Gene and Dan up and down, gauging their appearance. Gene registered the look of fear which was typical of so many friends and relatives of the victims during his investigations. Many would have guessed with the first second or two who Gene was, and would have sensed that his news would not be good.

"Are you Harry Tomlinson?" Said Dan, the man nodded. "I'm DS, sorry, DI Daniel Hartley, and this is DCI Gene Hunt." Gene nodded at Harry.

"This is about Scott, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so, yes." Muttered Gene. "Do you mind if we come in?" Harry nodded, numbly, leading them through to a bright sitting room and ushering them into a pair of quaint armchairs before sitting down himself, and speaking.

"He didn't come home last night, I thought he'd got drunk and stayed at a friend's or something. I was going to wait and see if he came home tonight." Harry's voice broke, he took several deep breaths, composing himself before continuing, "I didn't want to report it or anything, I didn't want to make a fuss. Is he Ok? Is he hurt."

"We're not sure." Said Dan, gently. "But we do have evidence to suggest that DC Woodall might be in a bit of trouble. There may be no need to panic, but we were wondering what you know about his movements last night or maybe this morning."

"He was at a bar, The Spandex Ballet, I was supposed to meet him there after work, but I had a stomach bug, so I had to stay here."

"When did you last speak to him?" Asked Gene.

"About half five yesterday. He rung me from the office to arrange where we were meeting. After I started being sick I rung the bar to ask them to tell him I couldn't make it."

"And did they?"

"Yeah, I think so. We know the owner see, Archie, and I asked him to tell Scott I was poorly and he said he would, so I assumed he got the message."

Gene and Dan made note of many of the finer details before leaving, assuring Harry that he would be kept posted on the investigation as it continued. As they were leaving, Harry stopped Gene and looked at him, imploringly.

"There's still a chance he could just turn up at the door, right."

Gene stood on the doormat, unable to respond, he thought of the chilling words cut into the leather before looking back up at Harry.

"As Hartley says: we do have reason to believe that DC Woodall might be in danger. I'm sorry sir."

After another painful few minutes, Dan and Gene were back in the car.

"Looks like it's time for a bit of undercover work, Danny Boy."

"Maybe it'd be better if you didn't do it…"

"One of my officers might be in danger Hartley, so do you think I'd stay in the bloody office pushing pencils, when I could be out there getting something done?" Said Gene, putting the keys into the ignition.

"The Spandex Ballet?" Said Dan, uncertainly, as the engine roared into life, "You know what that is, right?"

"Yeah. It's a bar." Said Gene with the air of talking to a stupid person.

"Do you know what kind of bar, Guv?"

"I don't care what kind of bloody bar! A bar's a bar."

"So you're definitely going, no matter what?" Asked Dan, a small smile playing around his lips.

"Course." Came the gruff reply as Gene changed gear far too aggressively.

"Can I have your word on that?"

"It's a bloody bar! Yes you can have my bloody word! What's your frigging problem?"

"The Spandex Ballet, Guv, The _Spandex Ballet…" _grinned Dan, trying to stifle giggles, "Gene, it's a gay bar!"

The car screeched to a halt as Gene slammed on the brake in shock, it skidded erratically, leaving an impressive skid mark on the tarmac.

"Oh shit." muttered Gene, almost inaudibly as Dan broke into peals of uncontrollable laughter.


	7. Chapter 6: What To Wear?

Dan pulled the razor across his cheek, before washing it briefly in the dirty, foamy water. Gene had dropped him off at his flat to get ready, promising to be back 'round within the hour. After their brief exchange in the Merc, Gene had hardly spoken, instead sitting tight, his face pale and drawn. Dan quickly came to the conclusion that he'd never actually been in a gay bar, even in an operation, due to his homophobic nature and general hatred of the places. _This could be funny._

Dan looked into the mirror to repeat the action nonchalantly, when he noticed a figure behind him. He turned around violently, his heart beating fast in his chest. There was no-one there. Turning back to the sink, he tentatively glanced back into the mirror, still feeling the man's heavy lidded eyes trained on his back. No-one. Shaking his head, he attempted to clear the image of the trench-coated man from his brain, putting it down to his imagination and deliberately ignoring the chills still trickling down his spine.

* * *

At the hesitant knock on the door, Dan grinned. _Let the fun begin. _Unlatching the lock, he tugged the flimsy wooden door open, taking care not to dislodge any more of the peeling paint off the wall.

Gene stood in the doorway; looking the most out of place Dan had ever seen him. He looked his DCI up and down, attempting unsuccessfully to stifle his giggles at the outfit Gene had chosen, including a rather fetching pair of black plimsolls.

"Um… Nice trousers…" Dan managed through his choking sobs of uncontrollable laughter, eyeing up the three-quarter length trousers that Gene had found in the back of his wardrobe.

"Alright, that's bloody enough!" Gene stormed after another minute, pushing his way into Dan's poky flat.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Dan choked slightly, managing to force out a comprehendible, albeit rather long sentence. "You know, if you wear a tight t-shirt, you should make sure it's only tight in the chest area, not the chest and midsection, otherwise you look like you're trying too hard."

"Well I bloody am trying aren't I? How the hell am I supposed to know what to wear? And aren't you just the expert?" Gene retorted huffily. "In fact I reckon you are…" he grinned.

Dan raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you like that?"

Gene decided to ignore the comment, determined to avoid fighting with his DI for the fourth time in two days; not that he didn't enjoy fighting, but he wasn't sure how he would fare in the bar if he looked beaten up: surely someone'd be able to think up an inappropriate chat-up line about it. _Maybe I should ask Dan; just for some amusement_, he mused.

Glancing down at his clothes he cringed slightly, remembering the last terrible hour in vivid detail. _Why the hell would anyone ever wear hair gel? Bloody disgusting, sticky stuff._

"I _was_ toying with the idea of a cowboy hat…" Gene trailed off with a smirk at the look on Dan's face.

"Alright, alright, shut the hell up! I've got bad enough mental images as it is!" Dan cried, amusedly. "Gimme ten minutes Guv, I just need to finish getting ready."

He headed back into the bathroom, thinking about poor Woodall and hoping they found something tonight. He remembered the chilling message carved into the leather and shivered involuntarily. Staring into the mirror while he applied a quick slick of hair gel, he was relieved that to find that he was alone in the room; no-one behind him this time. _Who was that man?_

* * *

By the time Dan had perfected his image, Gene was looking distinctly uneasy. Dan pulled the door open, gesturing for his DCI to exit first. Gene didn't move, appearing peculiarly green.

"Guv? Come on, we need to go," Dan urged, not entirely sure what to do next. Gene was 'The Manc Lion', always confident, if not big-headed, and always with something to say. Even though he'd only known Gene for two days, he knew this sort of reaction was uncommon.

"I… what if they hit on me Dan?" he mumbled nervously.

Dan grinned, rolling his eyes.

"Oh come on Guv, it's not like they're going to ravish you, is it?"


	8. Chapter 7: Blue hair and a Moustache

**A/N: So here it is: Gene Hunt in a gay bar. Some said it couldn't be done, but nevertheless, here we stand. **

**A few chapters ago SephyRose611 implied that every even chapter (the ones she writes) would be from Dan's point of view, and that every odd chapter (The ones I write) would be from Gene's. Just to throw a spanner in the works, I have decided to write chapter seven from Dan's perspective instead, there's a little bit of Gene at the begining, but it's mainly good old Danny Boy. It's probably safe to say that I won't stick to the trend of writing only from Gene's perspective hereafter, because I am a pain in the arse. Just forget everything about the odd/even thing. We'll make it pretty clear who's perspective we're writing from anyway. You're not thick, you can deal with it! :D**

**Have I ever told you that we like reviews? (Hint, hint!)**

**_Queenoftherandomoneandonly_**

"Oooh…Hello tiger!" cooed the man, grinning suggestively at Gene, his hand hovering dangerously close to Gene's chest.

"Hold up Gavvie baby," said another, pushing the first man out of the way "This one's mine."

Gene stifled an involuntary whimper as the man advanced, looking him up and down, his eyes lingering upon certain areas, "Eccentric dresser…" he said, raising a pair of shaped eyebrows, grinning. "I like it…"

The Spandex Ballet was a small, yet loud affair, typically 80's music blared from various speakers set into the walls, and the customers spoke animatedly, often breaking out into laughter. They had entered almost unnoticed; Dan had told Gene to stay by the bar while he went and 'circulated' as he put it. Gene had nodded, and retreated to the barstool nearest the wall and had sat upon it, trying very hard to become invisible.

He had failed however, and the two men had sidled up to Gene, putting him in the exceptionally undesirable situation in which he now found himself.

Presently, Gene took a step backwards as the second man grew ever closer. He continued shrinking away from him until his back made contact with the wooden bar. Knowing there was no escape; Gene turned his head away, shuddering as he felt the man's hands upon his waist.

"Oi!" came a familiar voice. "Keep your hands to yourself mate," Dan emerged seemingly out of nowhere and confronted Gene's accosters. "He's with me."

"Oh. Sorry." said the first man, as the second, much to Gene's relief, withdrew his hands.

"Didn't mean to offend," he said, "I'm just a sucker for the strong, silent type," he winked, still watching Gene before turning to Dan and adding: "You're one very lucky boy." The two men turned and walked off, chatting.

Dan turned to Gene, sniggering. "Having fun, Gene?"

"Sod off."

"I just saved your arse there. You should be thanking me on bended knee."

"Don't you start," Gene grunted, making Dan break out in to laughter again. He stopped quickly at the look he received. "It was horrible…why me?"

"It must be your irresistible masculine allure," Dan grinned, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

"Shut up and get me a drink," Gene muttered, with the air of a man desperate to find some hint of normality in the strange new environment in which he found himself. "Oh, and if you tell anyone at CID about this Danny Boy, I'll nail your knackers to your desk. Got it?"

"Got it." said Dan, smirking as he moved to the bar.

A cheerful auburn-haired man stood behind the bar, wiping a glass with a tea-towel, and walked over to Dan, smiling: "What can I get you mate?" he said, through a thick Northern Irish accent, grinning at Dan as he spoke.

"A martini for me, and a pint for him, please."

"And a whiskey chaser," Gene mumbled.

"And a whiskey chaser," Dan repeated to the barman, rolling his eyes.

As the barman busied himself with the drinks, Dan turned back to Gene.

"You ok?"

"Nothing a stiff drink won't cure," Gene sighed. "Don't leave me on my own again…please."

Dan sensed the note of vulnerability in Gene's voice and found half of his heart going out to him, the other half bearing a mischievous desire to exploit it.

"Ok then," Dan agreed. "But after tonight, all my drinks are on you for the rest of the month."

"Done," muttered Gene, necking the pint the barman handed him. If ever Gene had needed to take up drinking to forget, then it was now.

Gene went on to order a great many more 'stiff drinks' as Dan made idle conversation with the barman, concluding that Gene was in no fit state to get anywhere in their investigation.

"Are you the famous Archie?"

"Ye, that'd be me," replied the barman.

"I've heard a lot about you from a mate of mine."

"All good I hope?"

"Yeah…Oh, I'm Dan by the way."

"Nice to meet you Dan," said Archie, extending his right hand for Dan to shake. "I haven't seen you around these parts. New to the area?" Archie asked, pleasantly.

"Yeah, you could say that." Dan answered, wryly.

"So who's this mate who knows so much about me?""Oh yeah, Harry Tomlinson. Said you know each other."

"Ah ye, we go way back," smiled Archie reminiscently. "Scott told me he weren't so well last night, poor sod." It was at that point in the conversation that Gene felt confident (inebriated) enough to speak again.

"Ah, you know Woo- I mean Scott as well do you?" He cut in, before downing the whiskey in one to cover his mistake.

"Ah, ye, Scott, lovely bloke," replied Archie. "And I don't think I've had the pleasure…"

"Gene" he nodded briefly. "I'm here with Danny Boy. Scott and Harry are mates of ours."

"Well a friend of theirs is a friend of mine," smiled Archie, genially, gesturing to Gene's empty glass. "Another?"

"Tah," said Gene, gratefully accepting the glass of scotch that Archie handed to him.

"So," continued Archie. "How'd you know Scott and Harry?"

"Oh…eh, through a mutual friend, met them a couple of years ago," stumbled Gene.

"Yeah," said Dan, nodding. "Lovely couple."

"Aren't they just?" replied Archie wistfully. "Be back in a minute lads, just got to serve this lot," said Archie throwing the tea-towel over his shoulder. Then, holding his hand up in a gesture of farewell, he moved over to the other side of the bar where a group of men stood, laughing and joking amongst themselves. Gene turned to Dan, a look of confusion upon his rough features.

"I wonder what a bloke like that's doing working here?"

"A bloke like what?"

"Yeh know…" said Gene, lowering his voice, "…a straight bloke."

"Who says he's straight?" muttered Dan.

"Well he's not all…"

"Lycra-clad?" supplied Dan.

"Well, he's not like those other blokes."

"Not all gay people are like that, are they? They're the exception to be honest. Most gay people are just normal blokes. Woodall isn't all…touchy feely, is he?"

"S'pose," grunted Gene, returning to his Scotch.

"Gay blokes are normal Gene. They don't want to shag everything in long trousers." Gene grunted in response, so Dan continued: "I mean; do you fancy every woman you see?"

Before Gene could answer, Archie had returned, giving them a wide smile. Dan spoke: "We haven't seen Scott in a while, you said you spoke to him last night? How's he doing?"

"Ay, he's fine. He was here last night, supposed to be meeting Harry, but then he phoned to say he wasn't well."

"Ahh and I bet Scott rushed off home with the chicken soup?" said Gene, leaning in, still nursing the Scotch.

"Ah bless him, he tried," laughed Archie. "But Harry told him to stay and have a few. Didn't want him missing a night out because he was ill."

"Poor bloke, drinking on his own," probed Dan, subtly leading the conversation forwards, sensing that soon the talkative barman would give them some sort of clue into Woodall's actions after the phone call.

"Ah, no. He had a mate to chat to. Makes friends everywhere he goes does Scott."

"Yeah he does…That's good." murmured Gene thoughtfully, after swallowing his latest mouthful of alcohol. "Nice bloke was he, that 'e were talking to?"

"Seemed it, ye," replied Archie. "I think they knew each other, they were getting on like a house on fire."

Thinking on his feet, Dan attempted to get more out of this latest development whilst still maintaining his cover.

"Ohhh," he said. "That sounds like Fred; he and Scott were always good mates. Was he a tall bloke, with dyed blue hair and a moustache?"

"Eh…no," muttered Archie shaking his head slightly, vaguely surprised at the odd description. "He was sort of middle height, curly mousey sort of hair and glasses, had this mole near his eye. You know him?"

"No, doesn't ring any bells," replied Dan, also shaking his head, and subconsciously looking over at Gene, who also seemed to have clocked on to the fact that they may have just received the description of a potentially vital person in this investigation.

After a few minutes, Archie wandered off to serve some more customers. "Nice to meet ya fellas; lovely talking to ye, but I should probably go and pretend to do a bit o' work."

Gene and Dan quickly made the decision to split up, although reluctantly on Gene's part, to see what they could glean from talking to other inhabitants of the bar.

An uneventful two hours later, Dan decided it was best to call it a day, and went off in search of his DCI. When he found him, swaying at the corner of the dance floor, it became clear that Gene had had required plenty of 'Dutch Courage' to complete that particular task, and, indeed, Gene had thrown back dozens of glasses of whiskey in the short time since he and Dan had spoken to Archie.

Gene stumbled and tripped out of the bar, clinging onto Dan for support. Dan manoeuvred himself and his sozzled superior through the crowd and various obstacles contained within the bar. In fact, it took Dan so much time that Gene had already got to the second verse of 'O Come all ye Faithful' before he managed to steer Gene out of the door and onto the street.

He fumbled in Gene's coat pocket for the keys to the Mercedes, and unlocked the car, opening the door, and with some difficulty, dumped Gene into the front passenger seat. He strapped him in before walking around to the other side of the car, climbing in, and putting the keys into the ignition. Gene giggled, stupidly.

"Where d'you live?" asked Dan.

"Sod off," Gene slurred, before bursting into laughter punctuated by drunken snorts.

"Well you're not coming back to my place. You stink like a brewery."

Gene supplied the address, and then continued with his Christmas carol repertoire. Dan rolled his eyes, before pressing the accelerator, and driving off.

* * *

Gene's flat was larger than he expected, he decided as he helped his DCI through the threshold and into an armchair. Dan looked around: there was little in the flat of interest. The only remarkable thing in it sat on the coffee table. The woman in the picture smiled up at Dan, her eyes twinkling with forever captured laughter.

"Who's that?" asked Dan, gesturing towards the frame.

"Bolly."

"What?"

"Bolly. Alex Drake," said Gene, his face and tone of voice changing suddenly. He picked up the photograph and held it in both his hands, not as if to appreciate it himself, but more to get it away from Dan, it was as if he feared that Dan would take her away from him, the little scrap he appeared to have left. Gene did not look at the woman in the frame, but instead held it face down to his chest. Dan got the impression that this was a regular action: there was something in his movement that suggested an act repeated many times before.

"Who was she?" For some reason, Dan knew that he should say 'Who was she?' rather than 'Who is she?" Something in Gene's drunken voice, and a niggling feeling in the back of his mind told Dan that she wasn't here anymore.

"My last DI."

"Where is she now?"

"Gone…like the rest of 'em. Like you will. My Bolls…gone."

"What do you mean?" Dan questioned confusedly, his voice rising half with fear, half with excitement as he sensed a revelation on the way.

None came, however, as a snore like thunder punctuated Dan's question, and Gene's head lolled back, passing out on the threadbare armchair, the photograph still clutched tightly in his long, thin fingers.

Dan sighed and reluctantly left the room, locking the door behind him and posting the keys through the letterbox.

His mind began to buzz as he began the short walk back to his own flat. Who was this Alex Drake? Who were 'the rest of 'em', and, more importantly, who was the man he had left sprawled in an armchair? The lonely man who appeared to have lost so much. Who was he? What relevance did he have to Dan's situation?

His brain worked ten to the dozen as he walked the streets of London, and he was so pre-occupied, in fact, that he failed to notice the bespectacled, trench coat-wearing figure standing alone on the street corner, a malicious grin upon his pointed features.


	9. Chapter 8: I love you Scott

The next day, Dan felt slightly better as he made his way into the office. The questions that had plagued him last night took a back seat as he pushed open the double doors of CID; instead he resolved to concentrate fully on the investigation, as it was imperative that Scott was found sooner rather than later.

He felt the familiar surge of adrenaline as he addressed the team before him, determined that this lead would be of great importance in finding his DC.

"Right," he began, tapping the whiteboard behind him. "Last night we received the description of a man last seen talking to our missing colleague. I need as many people as possible on hand to ring 'round, get anymore information we can; a name would be very useful!"

"What's the man's description sir?" Allan questioned, already beginning to rise from his seat. It wasn't often that he would get up off his chair unless directly asked to do something, so the impact on the team at the abduction of Woodall was obvious.

"Right. Middle height, curly mousey brown hair, glasses and a mole near his right eye." Dan accompanied each word by writing it on the whiteboard, punctuating the final word with a flourishing underline at the end.

Lyn leapt to her immediately to her feet and dashed out of the room to find out more information about the man under suspicion.

"Me and the Guv are gonna go and visit Scott's boyfriend again, see if he knows anything about this man," Dan nodded towards his DCI, who'd just left his office, and grabbed his coat off his chair. "I hope to find some sort of progress when we get back!"

Dan's final statement was greeted by mumbles of assent and reassurances that they'd have more information by the time their superiors returned to the office.

"Oversee 'em all won't you Allan?" Gene turned to his DS, receiving a nod in reply.

"Yes Guv."

* * *

Dan paused outside the house that they had now visited twice in two days, praying that the next time they wound up on the doorstep it wouldn't be bad news they were bringing. He knocked again and glanced to the side briefly to see his DCI looking more confident than the last time they were here.

"Let's just see what we can find out Danny Boy-" was all Gene had time to say before the door opened tentatively and Harry Tomlinson greeted them with a worried and extremely brief smile.

"Hi again Harry," Dan smiled quickly before resuming his sombre look and shaking the young man's hand. "We've just got a couple of things to run by you, if we're not disturbing anything."

"Not at all, that's fine," spoke quietly, opening the door fully and stepping further back into the hallway. "Come in officers."

When the three of them had settled down into the familiarly quaint armchairs and Harry had made them each a mug of tea, Dan began to speak:

"How are feeling Harry? Are you coping alright?" he looked at younger man, noticing how pale and drawn he looked; the bags under his eyes belied his years.

"'m alright I 'spose," he muttered. "As good as can be expected anyway... I half keep expecting him to just turn up on the doorstep, right as rain, and tell me he'd just stayed at a friend's house..." Harry trailed off, wistfulness mingled with sadness in his deep blue eyes.

Dan gave a small apologetic smile, looking down into his lap briefly. He couldn't forget the words etched into Scott's warrant card and shivered slightly, knowing that Harry's dream wasn't going to come true. Gene shifted uncomfortably next to him, and Dan knew that he was remembering the threat carved into the leather like himself.

Dan simply nodded, knowing that no words were needed; Harry didn't truly believe what he'd said, he was just trying to stay positive, keep his partner's memory fresh in his mind in case the worst happened.

Instead he began again, resuming the role of DI: "We visited The Spandex Ballet last night, undercover, to see if we could find out anything that might possibly give us a lead in this investigation."

"Did you?" Harry interrupted, before Dan could say anything else.

"The barman gave us a description of a man," Gene informed him gruffly, his mind still hazy from the night before and his head pounding. "Said he talked to Woodall after he got your call..." he trailed off, shaking his head slightly to attempt to clear the mugginess and taking a large sip of tea, hoping that might allow him to concentrate on the investigation and get him through the morning.

"Description?" Harry exclaimed excitedly. "What did he say he looked like?" he questioned, turning to Dan for the answer.

"He was middle height, had curly mousey brown hair, glasses and a mole near his right eye," Dan reeled off, having spent last night memorising it. "Do you know of him?" he trailed off, noting the look of horror on Harry's face.

"Yes, I think I do..." he paused for breath, before steeling himself and continuing. "I think his name's Smythe… Dick Smythe, that was it... He, he was Scott's ex-boyfriend..." he explained, glancing at Dan who was busy scribbling everything down in his notepad. "Scott didn't say much about him really... He said that it ended on bad terms, that when he finished it, Dick spiralled out of control. He was angry at first, then confused, depressed... And then he went mad, insane..." Harry stopped for a moment, shivering slightly. "Scott told me that he was very vulnerable before they got together and that he was emotionally unstable when they were... I mean, it was years and years ago this... Surely if he wanted to hurt Scott he would have done it sooner?"

Dan thought about it for a moment, attempting to consider the psychological aspects of the situation, but giving up quickly: he'd never been very good at that sort of thing; preferring aggressive questioning and just getting answers from the scum; they were criminals, things to be brought down and locked up, not to be reasoned with and helped to come to an understanding. That's what he admired about Gene.

"I don't know Harry," he sighed sadly. "I really don't. But this is the only lead we have, and, let's face it; it does sound more likely to be him, rather than anyone else in the bar."

Harry nodded despondently. "I 'spose he does seem the sort that'd do that: Emotional, violent, seemingly psychopathic... Scott did say once, when we were talking 'bout our previous relationships, that Dick seemed quite scary sometimes. That he was a very intense person... But I never thought he might do something like this... And to my Scott as well. Bless him, he'd never hurt a fly. He doesn't deserve this..." Harry trailed off with a small sob.

Dan and Gene got to their feet slowly a few minutes later, having allowed Harry time to compose himself.

"If we find out anything further, we'll let you know," Gene nodded, and Dan was surprised to see that his boss' expression was almost tender as he shook the distraught young man's hand.

Dan nodded his agreement and gave a brief smile as he stepped out of the house and into the street, when he had a brief flash of déjà vu. He felt the familiar stabbing pain in his neck and struggled with the sensation of falling forwards uncontrollably. He righted himself with a jolt and was glad to find that neither his DCI nor Harry had noticed anything was amiss and so followed the former as he lead the way to the Merc, rubbing his neck slightly.

"Thank you for everything officers," Harry called after the retreating pair, smiling slightly as Dan turned around and gave a small wave in acknowledgement and Gene just continued striding to his car. "I love you Scott..." he murmured quietly, the words hanging stiffly in the air, unanswered. "Wherever you are, please try and come back to me safely..."

* * *

The assembled members of CID looked up quickly from their files and telephones as the double doors opened violently and closed behind the entrants; Dan slightly ahead of Gene. The latter strode into his office in a practised move, nodding briefly towards Dan before he closed the door.

Dan moved towards the whiteboard where various notes were tacked around the words penned on to the surface. Mentally steeling himself for the task that lay ahead, he turned to face the expectant faces that had followed his progress across the room.

"We talked to DC Woodall's partner and he had a match for the person we're searching for," Dan told them briskly. "He's Scott's ex-boyfriend, name Dick Smythe."

"I'll get on to that," Lyn spoke up, before leaving the room again.

Dan watched her go before turning to the rest of the team. "We need to find this man. History, record, and most desperately: Location. We need to find our DC," Dan urged. "And soon... According to Harry Tomlinson, Smythe is a psychopath, emotionally deranged... He's capable of anything. We need to nail him, and fast."

The group nodded as a whole, then moved off separately to complete their investigations and carry out further in-depth research. DS Lloyd moved over to Dan.

"Um, DI Hartley," he cleared his throat nervously as Dan turned to him. "What if... What if we're too late?"

Dan suddenly looked very pale, almost as if he was about to throw up. "Allan," he said, as softly as he could manage. "We've got to stay positive, for Scott, okay? I know it's difficult, losing a colleague in any circumstance, but the team has to pull together, we have to pull together for Scott, he's relying on us."

"I-I know sir, but..."

"But for now we need to concentrate on finding our suspect, and therefore hopefully, our DC, okay?"

Allan nodded despondently, murmuring a "yes sir", before moving over to one of the phones at the back of the office, attempting to clear thoughts of Scott in horrible situations from his mind.

Dan shook his head almost imperceptibly, watching his DS move sadly across the room. It struck him then that he and Scott were probably quite good friends; what with working with each other day in and day out and going to the local pub every night after work; the whole team were most likely extremely close. Dan realised that the older man was falling apart at the sudden loss of his best mate, and the imminent prospect of maybe never seeing him again if the investigation went horribly wrong.

He was interrupted from his reverie by the double doors swinging open again and Lyn hurrying through, clutching a piece of paper tightly in her hands.

"I've found him!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Flat 3b, third floor, Winchester Road, down by the docks." She handed Dan the scrap of paper so he could confirm it for himself.

"He's still in his own flat?" Allan questioned surprised, having read the information over Dan's shoulder.

"He's obviously not very intelligent," Dan remarked dryly and turned towards his DCI's office as the man himself strode out.

"Come on then Danny Boy, let's bring him down."

Dan nodded, swiftly grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and following Gene out of the office.

* * *

Winchester Road was extremely quiet as Dan and Gene made their way to the staircase leading to the upper floors of the flats in question.

The two men exchanged determined glances before Dan knocked on the door, followed by the customary "Police, open up!"

To neither man's surprise, no sound emitted from the poky flat, and everything around them became oddly stiff. Just as the silence began to get stifling, Dan rapped his knuckles against the wood of the door for the second time, yet again followed by the traditional speech and an added "DCI Hunt and DI Hartley." Yet again, the silence fell around them and no movement could be sensed.

As Dan caught Gene's eye, he noticed a glint settle there and, despite the situation, he found himself grinning.

He motioned to the door with his head. "Shall we?"

"You can do the honours," Gene grunted. "Seeing as it's yer first time with us."

Dan nodded, and steeling himself, he pushed up against the door, feeling the wood buckle under the force of the impact. Following the slight cracking of the lock as it tugged against the nails holding it to the doorframe, Dan swore he could hear a muffled noise coming from inside the flat that sounded suspiciously like "Dan."

He paused for a moment, and noting the frozen position of his boss, Dan deduced that he didn't actually imagine the cry and therefore rammed into the door with a renewed determination.

At the third blow, the door finally buckled under his weight and the wood swung off its hinges to reveal the room within.


	10. Chapter 9: Like a total Eclipse

**A/N: Hi, Queenoftherandom here :D Here's chapter 9. SephyRose611 is on holiday at the moment, so I wouldn't expect the next chapter for a couple of weeks, sorry! So, to keep me going, I want lots of reviews please. Remember: I know where you live... Well, I don't really. Review anyway though. **

Bursting through the broken door, Dan and Gene looked around, sticking close to one another, deciding without words to search together rather than separately. Something about the place was inexplicably unnerving. The flat seemed desolate, bleak. Almost uninhabitable. The air seemed significantly colder inside the flat than it had in the corridor.

The kitchen, lounge and bathroom were minimal, unlived in and deserted. This left only the single bedroom. The two men edged towards the closed door. Small scufflings could be heard from within. Gene reached out a wary gloved hand towards the handle. Bracing himself, Gene turned it, dreading what they would find within.

"Shit." Dan spoke under his breath as he and Gene stared, open mouthed at the scene which lay before them. The depravity of the flat's owner was more than clear from their environment. A small, dirty window on the opposite wall let in the only chink of light, filling the room with a sort of musky haze, partially illuminating the bare walls. Gene let out an audible gasp as his eyes were immediately drawn to them, half disgusted, half enthralled by what he saw there,

Every wall was plastered with image after image of Woodall, one of which showed him and Harry walking side by side on a busy street, arms wrapped round one another's waist, another showed Woodall supporting Dan as they left CID on that first day. All were in public places. All seemed to have been taken without the occupants' knowledge. Here and there, however, the odd picture seemed to have been slashed violently, leaving deep welts in the plaster behind them, rendering the exact subject indistinguishable.

As if this wasn't enough to take in, they were then hit by the almost unbearable smell of the place. It smelled fetid, like a mix of human sweat, the metallic tang of blood and rancid meat. The overall effect caused Dan to force back a retch as he and Gene advanced cautiously into the room. Dan glanced at Gene, waiting for silent instruction. His superior matched his gaze and nodded, signalling for them to advance, guns drawn and warrant cards aloft.

"Guv?" A hoarse, weak and quickly stifled whisper issued from the corner of the room, Dan and Gene squinted into the semi-darkness, where a shadowy figure loomed as another knelt before it, shrinking into the corner of the room.

"Don't come any closer," came a gravelly, rasping voice, presumably Dick's, "I'll kill 'im. Don't think I won't. I'll put this knife through his fuckin' head!" Dan gave an involuntary shiver at these words, a hand reaching instinctively for the back of his neck, prodding the hairline gingerly for any hint of a wound. A sharp intake of breath came from the quivering form of Woodall as he began to plead, straining against the hand that held him in place.

"Dick…please-?"

"SHUT UP!" roared his captor, "Don't you understand? You've got to die. You're fucking dead already!" He punctuated every word by shaking Woodall violently, impervious to his terrified whimpers. "You're the living dead, the lot of you! Don't make a blind bit of difference what I do."

"Dick?" Dan stepped forward, lowering his gun, "Can I call you Dick? Perhaps Mr Smythe?" There was no answer, although the shaking seemed to cease, as if the man was listening intently, poised, cat-like, ready to attack at the slightest notice. Dan registered this, though decided to accept it, for now. At least he was actually listening, and that was something. He continued: "I'm putting the light on, OK? Just the light, that's all I'm doing."

Dan waited for a few moments and, upon receiving no answer, backed away slowly, never taking his eyes off the three other men. He fumbled blindly at the wall behind him, and upon finding the light switch, turned it on, bringing the faces of the two men into clear relief.

Woodall blinked rapidly, clearly having been kept in the semi-darkness since his abduction.

His eyes were puffy and swollen, black and purple bruises visible on almost every inch of exposed skin. Dried blood congealed around a split lip, and a fresh trickle leaked from his hairline, glistening sickeningly in the glow from the un-shaded bulb. Dan noticed a moth begin to circle and flap around it. Drawn, as they always were, by the light. Unbidden, dark thoughts began to creep into Dan's mind, almost inexplicably; first Alex Drake, 'the rest of them,' (whoever they were) and now Woodall... with a jolt in the pit of his stomach, Dan began to wonder why people who knew-or were close to- Gene Hunt tended to end up getting hurt.

_The man flashed briefly into Dan's field of vision, an unmistakable look of triumph upon the bespectacled face, glasses flashing menacingly. _

Shaking his head slightly, as if to rid himself from the disconcerting illusion. Dan turned his attention back to the task in hand and, more importantly, back to the shivering Woodall, who still knelt in the corner of the room. He looked weakened, diminished, half the man Dan and Gene had known but a day or two before.

"You bastard." whispered Gene, shaking his head in disbelief. He then addressed Woodall, though kept his eyes upon Smythe, a look of distaste upon his face, "You're gonna be alright Woods, you'll see. Nothing broken?" Woodall shook his head, too afraid to speak as Smythe lowered his knife.

Years of policing experience had taught Gene that pussy-footing around kidnappers was certainly not the way to do it. You give them what they want, make them think they're in control, then, funnily enough, they ARE in control. The more time you give them, the more time they've got to kill innocent people. No, that wasn't the way to deal with it. Go in. Bang bang. Dead scumbag, free hostages and we can all be home in time for tea. In normal circumstances, Gene would have been all for the 'direct' approach, but when it was one of his own…well, he felt as if he'd rather this nutter got what he wanted, rather than him sticking a knife in his DC.

"Eh…Dick? Why don't you put the knife down? There's a good lad." The stony face of Smythe remained impassive, the cold grey eyes fixed upon Woodall and the knife, almost without seeing. There was nothing behind those eyes, they were blank. There was nothing behind them but a madness, a depravity, a stark, bleak hunger. Despite having seen many such eyes in his time, the inhuman quality never failed to shake Gene to the core.

Feeling intensely awkward, but also an overwhelming urge to help the young officer, member of his team, Gene continued: "Look lad, what have you really got to gain by sticking a knife in 'im 'ey? I know he's a bit of a happy clappy sod at times, but he's not that bad..." he trailed off pathetically.

"He left me." Smythe spoke to Gene at last. _'Oh here we go…' _thought Gene, inwardly rolling his eyes. "He broke my heart and he's going to pay for it."

"Why does Scott have to pay for it, Mr Smythe?" Interjected Dan, half heartedly employing the few features of his psychological training that he vaguely remembered. As he recalled, he had spent most of that course doodling on his notepad. Dan was a hands-on sort of man, he'd never had much time for this psychological crap, but right then, he wished that he'd paid the slightest bit of attention. This 'crap' could mean the difference between Woodall coming out of here on his feet, or Woodall coming out of this in a bag. Dan swallowed as Smythe gave his reply.

"He drove me to this. He's made me do this. Now he's shagging that other bastard and, erm…" He paused, giving a look of mock- thoughtfulness, "…I'm going to kill him." Smythe spoke matter of factly, grinning and looking down at Woodall as the young DC desperately tried to extract himself from the other man's grip.

"Fuck this for a game of soldiers." muttered Gene. Operation 'pussy foot' seemed to be gaining them no ground. Tyler had sworn by this sort of shit, but in all his years in the force, Gene was yet to see it get anything done. The longer Woodall was near that knife, the more opportunity that complete nut job had to kill him. Gene was about to act on these musings, when Dan's voice came from his right.

"The poof will die. Why write that, Mr Smythe, if you're gay yourself? You and Scott were a couple."

"Don't be a dick Danny," answered Gene, "What better way to cover 'is tracks, throw us off the scent. Why would we go after his ex if we thought it were a homophonic crime."

"Homophobic, Guv."

"Whatever. Thought you were clever, though, didn't you Dicky?" For the first time, Smythe's eyes met Gene's, grey boaring mercilessly into blue. Steeling himself, Gene concentrated the full might of his gaze and his fury onto Smythe, determined not to let him win. Fixing his face into it's most fearsome glare and with renewed menace in his voice, Gene continued, "Now then. if you know what's good for you, you'll put that down. Both me and my DI are armed to the back teeth, and believe me, sonny jim, neither of us are afraid to put so many bullet holes in your arse that you'll be able to use it as a bloody colander. Your choice."

"Then shoot me." Smythe said, his face cracking into a terrifying, evil grin, "just be careful not to hit Scott here. Wouldn't look good that, would it? A gay-hating DCI shooting the DC he calls a bender, on a daily basis." Smythe continued to smile humourlessly as Gene looked away, a look like shame passing over his face. He waited until Hunt met his eyes again before adding under his breath, a barely audible challenge, his eyes glinting with a deranged happiness.

"Shoot me."

In less than a second, several things happened at once, Gene lunged forward wildly, the knife tore downwards, and a gunshot like thunder shook the room.

From his face-down position on the floor, Gene looked up to where Dan stood, paralysed, a rigid arm holding a smoking gun straight ahead. In a millisecond that felt like an eternity, Gene turned towards the other side of the room.

Smythe was dead, sprawled on the bare floor, a single bullet hole between the eyes. Blood leaked steadily from the wound and splattered the wall behind him, in which Dan's bullet was now lodged. Gene watched as the blood stained the floorboards and ran between them, forming a scarlet river. For a moment, the only thing to break the silence was the horrible drip dropping as it flowed down a crack. Gene continued to stare, transfixed, until a clang and a gasping came from the corner of the room.

There Woodall lay, his eyes wide, breath a rasping gargle in his throat. The knife had fallen beside him on the floor. Yet more blood glistened there. Gene crawled over to him, casting Smythe's corpse aside roughly, as he went. Woodall's eyes, pupils dilating, fell upon him as he clutched his heaving stomach with both hands, blood seeping between his fingers.

Instinctively, Gene took Woodall in his arms, cradling him as he would a child. Hunt's voice came out a croak as he found his throat dry.

"Scott…" But Woodall just continued to look at him. Gene swallowed before continuing. "You are not going to die on me. Got it?" There was no answer. "Woodall, pull yourself together. Come on. Stay with me." At last came the weak reply.

"Yes Guv."

"That's it Scott, just look at me. Please." Woodall's eyes slid in and out of focus. Gene panicked as he felt the young man slipping away in his arms. He redoubled his efforts, shaking Woodall slightly as he continued to speak to him, an edge of fear now lacing his breaking voice.

"Come on now Woodall. Stay with me…." He paused slightly before saying: "Now call this bribery, but if you just stay with me, there's probably a promotion to DS on the cards. God knows you're long overdue. You need a new warrant card anyway, after what that nutter did to it, we may as well update it while we're at it." Woodall smiled at this. Strengthened by this small ray of hope, Gene continued to speak, " and also, you need to stay with me long enough to hear what I've got to say. There's very few people alive who can say they've witnessed one of these. It's a Gene Hunt apology. Like a total eclipse they are, don't happen very often." In a low, breathy voice, Woodall managed a good natured reply:

"Ooh, I am honoured."

Dan stayed back, sensing that he was not needed in this scene, sensing that it was his Guv that Woodall needed now, not a bloke he'd only met just the other day. The corners of Gene's mouth twitched as he took a deep breath, looked Woodall full in the face and began.

"Look. I've been a total shit to you. You've been nowt but great on my team. You've made some excellent collars, 'member Ross Collins?" Woodall nodded as Gene smiled reminiscently "You've been brilliant. More than brilliant. I'm an utter bastard." Gene felt a hot, burning feeling behind his eyes, but bit back the tears, instead focusing his energy solely upon the dying young man in his arms. Not much more than a kid really. "I was just too much of a twat to see it. Brought up in the dark ages, I was. I was taught to think that sort of stuff was wrong, not that that's an excuse. But that's not the reason Scott, not really. I've always been too wrapped up in me own stupid little world to think about anything different. I'm just an old git."

"Well there's no arguing with that." replied Woodall, his voice beginning to catch in his throat with the effort of talking.

"I know now though. Just because blokes shagging other blokes isn't my thing doesn't mean it's…wrong." Gene avoided Scott's eyes for the briefest of moments, be fore reconnecting their gaze and continuing. "If it's any consolation though Scott, I think Harry's a lucky man. No one could ask for a better bloke and I couldn't ask for a better DC. I reckon if I were that way inclined, Scott, you'd be top of my list, you would."

"Sorry Guv," whispered Woodall, "You're not quite my type." Gene laughed and allowed a single tear to fall down his face as he jerked a shaking thumb in the direction of Smythe.

"Well if that's your type Woodall, I have to say, I'd be offended if I was." Woodall gave a snort of laughter, though began to wheeze, voice gurgling through the blood that had risen to his convulsing throat. In spite of himself, Gene let the tears roll down his face in earnest, lips trembling, attempting to form words of comfort that would not come.

"Guv?"

" Y-Yes Scott?"

"Stop crying. You're acting like a poof."

Gene made an odd barking a noise part way between a laugh and a sob as Woodall's breath caught in his throat, becoming irregular, more ragged. The blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to remain conscious. Knowing that there was no way Scott was going to come back from this, Gene's hands moved, automatically from his body to his face, placing a firm hand on each cheek, thumbs caressing his face gently. Gene caught his gaze and held it, trying to focus upon Woodall's eyes through his own, bleary from tears. It was imperative Gene did it properly, he owed Woodall that at the very least. He always tried to avoid doing it this way, he had always thought it was best for them to go of their own volition, but at times like this he was left with no choice. He stared into the deep brown and saw himself reflected there. He saw everything about the man he cradled; Gene had seen scores of men die, and how many of them had cried, begged for mercy, asked 'why them and not someone else.' In stark contrast though, even on the brink of death, Woodall had retained his selfless nature, his humour and his determination to live.

From the other side of the room, Dan looked on, almost uncomfortably aware that this was more than comforting Woodall, that this was more than just cradling a man. He recognised the action of Gene placing his hands on Woodall's face as a significant action, not just holding him….No, Gene was _doing _something. Something strange…other worldly…taking something. Setting something free.

Woodall spoke once more, forcing the sentence out, now. Every syllable was an effort, bubbles of blood seeped from his mouth as he retched out the words:

"Gene…Tell Harry that I love him. I-I've always loved him."

As he finished, Woodall's breathing gave one last gutter as the eyes glazed over, the last embers of life fading as the pupils became still, unseeing and glassy. The air seemed to swirl and whisper around the two men as Gene closed his eyes in concentration. After a second or two, the sound faded away.

Scott Woodall was gone.

Gene opened his eyes. A tear ran from the bridge of his nose to the tip, where it lingered for a second before dropping softly onto Woodall's forehead.

"He knows, Scott… He knows."


	11. Chapter 10: I Know The Truth

A few days after that traumatic experience, Dan found himself wandering aimlessly around the block close to where he lived. The days draining events played over and over again in his emotionally clouded brain... Meeting Harry beforehand, talking to Archie, the funeral itself, going back to work, meeting Harry... Dan shook his head violently, attempting to break out of the monotonous routine of his thoughts.

As he meandered down the street, heading aimlessly towards the park without really knowing it, he failed to notice a dark figure on the street corner, piercing eyes fixed on him behind thick-rimmed glasses.

Falling uselessly onto a swing in the local playground, Dan scuffed the toes of his boots against the rough gravel as he watched the street lamps begin to flicker into life, their light illuminating the cracked paving stones underneath. He rested his head against the cold twisting chain, mulling back over the events of the past few days, but this time focusing solely upon the mysterious Gene Hunt.

Even though Dan had barely known him for a fortnight, he had seen so many different sides to his DCI: some good, some definitely not so good. When he'd arrived in this world (if that's what it even _is_, he mused) he'd been ready to beat up the scum, do anything to see a criminal behind bars, so worked up he was about Malone getting away with murdering a young girl. He'd wanted someone, anyone to agree with him, police like he thought the streets should be policed. Gene was that man, his ideal DCI, the one who used these methods on a day-to-basis. This had been Dan's dream, and he wasn't sure if his imagination had just created this scenario to help him towards recovery.

Right now though, he felt worse, completely destroyed, not recovered. Yes, he'd seen Hunt's way of policing, and he had to agree that his way of dealing with criminals was almost to be admired... But his skills as a human being, they weren't so admirable. Even on Dan's first day here, Gene had shown what his DI presumed to be his true colours, though Dan now shook his head angrily to clear those cutting comments out of his mind: it still hurt too much to think about Woodall.

In all Dan's years in the police force, up to 2010, he'd never seen a fellow officer die. Sure he'd heard about them on the news; caught up in rioting or stuck in the crossfire of a particularly heated argument, but he'd never had to face the death of a colleague so close to him. Even though he'd barely been at the station a week before Woodall was abducted, it had still hit him hard.

After finding himself stranded in this strange new world, Dan had had to cling on to anything that was remotely sane in order to survive, and Scott Woodall had been the first person to offer a friendly shoulder, despite not knowing whether this strange man that had tuned up out of the blue was friend or foe. Dan only had Woodall to thank for getting him through those first difficult few days, so despite only knowing him for that long, he still felt a rush of gratitude towards the younger man, followed by a swift and sickening surge of guilt at not being able to act fast enough to save him.

This guilt was preceded by an uncontrollable, and, Dan thought, maybe an entirely unfair tremor of anger towards his DCI for not doing anything to help either. The anger had built up during the last few days, bubbling slowly under the surface, and Dan was surprised that he hadn't hit out earlier, especially at Gene for his entirely inadequate speech to the team just after Scott's funeral. He knew he shouldn't, considering this was his boss, his team member, and the man he had to trust in order to stay alive, but right now, Dan was beginning to doubt Gene Hunt and question why he was even here at all.

* * *

After another half an hour, Dan felt truly cold to the bone, the freezing chain leaving an icy imprint that clawed up his cheek when he carefully prized himself off the twisting metal. Rising to his feet unsteadily, he began his weary trek homeward.

Dan had no concept of time or feeling as he slowly traced the familiar steps back to his poky flat; he'd spent many a night at that very same park, trying to make sense of everything; instead he found himself in a dream-like state, half asleep as he wandered down the street. He only realised this when, at one desolate corner, a man stepped into the ring of light cast by the street lamp overhead, making him jump violently and jolt backwards slightly in fright of this extremely sudden appearance.

Struggling to get a clear view of the man's face in the sudden brightness, Dan squinted at where he thought the man's eyes must be.

"Um, hello," he began awkwardly. "Is there anything I can, erm, do to help you?"

He ran his fingers through his hair nervously, relieved when the mysterious stranger stepped out of the light so he could see him better now his eyes had adjusted, soak in his appearance.

The man said nothing, his piercing gaze boring into Dan as he looked him up and down, cocking his head interestedly as he took him in, weighed him up. The half-light cast eerie shadows that flickered and danced across his face when he tilted his head, as his eyes met Dan's with a fierce intensity.

"Gene Hunt must be pretty desperate if he's recruiting the likes of you," the stranger commented dangerously.

Dan glared at the trench-coated figure before him, his brain kicking into gear as he registered the man's words.

"How do you know I work for Gene Hunt?" Dan growled angrily, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, warning him against this man.

"I know a lot more than that Daniel Hartley," the man jeered. "I know the truth."

Dan narrowed his eyes slightly at the man's first words, wondering how the hell that stranger knew his name. His suspicion increased, but his resolve wavered slightly as the last two words sunk in.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man grinned wickedly, though Dan was too caught up in his whirring thoughts that he didn't compute the implication.

"DCI Jim Keats. I look forward to working with you."


	12. Chapter 11: The Man With Dark Eyes

A few days earlier

The office was Gene's usual port of call at times like these. And indeed, it was the old faithful swivel chair upon which he now sat, chain smoking and swigging his favourite Scotch straight from the bottle. Gene surveyed his shoes, up on the desk. They were his best, Italian leather. Only ever got them out for weddings or funerals, and today had been the latter.

He had felt intensely awkward as he stood with the rest of CID, all in black, as the hearse rolled up to the church. Many a colleague had fallen in Gene's time, but he had never got over seeing the coffin for the first time. There was something about… Knowing. Knowing that your mate was in there, the bloke you were drinking with just the other week. Physically, he's so near to you, but really, in every other sense, he couldn't be further away.

A sobbing Harry had been led in by friends, and a sombre Archie had nodded briefly at Dan and Gene as they had entered, Gene craning his neck over the heads of the mourners all the time to try and catch some glimpse of Woodall's family. He wished to talk to them, to tell them how brave Woodall had been, how he had cracked jokes…

No family was found, however. As it turned out, according to Archie, Woodall and his parents had not been on speaking terms for years. In fact, that had been one of his reasons for moving down to London from his home in Birmingham. His mother and father had never accepted his sexuality.

"But…" Gene had stammered. "He's dead…surely they'd…?"

"Apparently not Mr. Hunt," Archie had replied, with a wry, yet sad smile. "They said they didn't want anything else to do with him. Not after he came out."

Gene had been rendered speechless. Of course he knew how easy it was to be un-accepting, but when their only son had died… Surely nobody could be that callous? It was then that the guilt hit him like a ton of bricks. Scott Woodall had spent his entire life going through hell because he fancied other blokes. First his parents had disowned him, so Scott had moved away from (or had been driven away) from his home, only to be greeted by a working environment in which he was belittled and shunned for the very same reason as he had before. Gene had ring-led all of that.

Everything Woodall did now made sense. Gene had never understood why he didn't retaliate or put up a fight. He had always worn that same hangdog, defeated expression. Now Gene realised: persecution and taunting was the norm for him. He had accepted it, long ago, as an immovable part of his life.

Suddenly, Gene felt like the lowest of the low, the mealiest amoeba. Sickened with himself, he had filed into the pew as the old organ swelled into life as the service began.

Gene took yet another measured swig from the whiskey bottle as he remembered Harry shuffling up towards the pulpit, trembling with emotion. He had shifted the single thin piece of paper between his fingers, before turning to the congregation and starting to speak, faltering to begin with, but voice gradually getting stronger as he read on.

"I'm…I'm sure that there are some perfect men. Well S-Scott wasn't one. In fact, sometimes, I'd have happily punched him in the face. He was the man who'd always leave his dirty socks under the bed. Scott was the bloke who'd hide the TV remote when I wanted to watch Countdown for no other reason than to annoy me… But Scott was also the man who'd always write 'I love you' on the blackboard in the kitchen. Scott was the man who'd bring me breakfast in bed every Sunday without fail. He could get boiled eggs just right as well. On my birthday Scott'd get me one big present and loads of little ones, and then he'd hide them around the house for me to find. Not grand gestures of love, but the little day to day things that really matter."

"What happened to Scott was…horrible. What he went through was…was…well it was worse than I can even imagine. I'm just glad that in his last moments that he was with friends. DCI Hunt and DI Hartley," at this point, Harry looked over to where Dan and Gene sat, the latter shrinking back into pew in shame. "You don't know what that would have meant to him. Thank you."

Then, Harry had turned to the mahogany coffin, placing a soft hand upon it.

"I'll miss you Scott. Sleep tight baby."

* * *

Presently, Gene took a deep dray from the cigarette, deep in thought. Yes, he had made his peace with Woodall himself, but not the issues his death had raised. Gene never liked to question himself, but at times like these it seemed necessary, if not vital, that he take a long hard look at who he was and what he stood for. He thought about Scott and Harry. Surely what they had was love, or as close to it as anyone gets, so why would he have had a problem with it? It wasn't hurting anyone.

If Bolly had taught him anything, then she had taught him love. He was sure that was what it was. He had pined for her, longed for her since they had been apart, and surely that wasn't because he hadn't got his quick shag on the backseat of the Quattro…no, it was something else. It was bloody love, it had to be bloody love. Gene Hunt was in love, still, after all this time. She had taught him that love endured, love sprung eternal, that love could do terrible things to people and that love was, most of all, beautiful.

So how could any love, whether it be between he and Alex, Scott and Harry, or anybody ever be wrong or unnatural? Surely it was the most natural thing in the world.

What had that woman done to him? He shook himself mentally, swinging his legs off the desk and placing them on the floor, where his foot began to tap, absently. The funeral had been hard, but facing his team back at CID was even harder. Silently, they sat down at their respective desks, faces turning, expectantly towards him, standing awkwardly before them. He had run a hand through his hair, as if to give himself time, before clearing his throat.

"Erm…Woods was a good bloke. And I know I weren't…great to him…but I know I'll miss 'im. I'll always remember him as the chirpy sod in the corner-" He gestured towards Woodall's poignantly empty desk, all eyes glanced towards it before snapping back to Gene, who faltered, still gazing at the place where Woodall had sat less than a week ago. Several moments passed before he continued: "Just…erm…well get on with it then…scum to catch."

The speech had been brief and unsatisfactory, and Gene knew it. He had retreated into his office, closing the blinds, avoiding Dan's disappointed gaze. It was there that Gene had spent the rest of the day, completely uninterrupted. It seemed even Dan had understood that Gene was not to be disturbed… Either that or he couldn't bear to look at him.

"I'm too old for this," muttered Gene, draining the last of the Scotch and throwing the bottle into the waste paper bin.

* * *

Dan started up at Keats, the man who had haunted his dreams since he had arrived in '88. Although, outwardly he seemed an average bloke, there was something in the way his glasses seemed to flash without light that caused an uncomfortable churning sensation to arise in the pit of Dan's stomach. It made his eyes unreadable. Dan had always been a great believer in the idea that the eyes were the window to the soul, and Jim Keats' eyes were hidden, masked. Something about him just didn't ring true.

"Work with you?" Dan said, slowly.

"Yeah. I've seen how you work Dan. You'll go far if you learn to make the right choices."

"Oh yeah?" Dan raised an eyebrow, his suspicions aroused. "And what might that choice be?"

"All in good time Dan," Keats smiled, which, to an outsider would have made him look pleasant, but in Dan's- rather unusual- case, the smile sent chills up his spine, right to the point where Malone's corkscrew had entered his brain. The spot throbbed suddenly, and Dan had to fight not to cry out. He repressed the urge, however, and was glad of it; he did not want to display any sort of weakness to this strange, unnerving man.

Keats whipped off his glasses, and began to polish them on his trench coat. Dan took this small, yet adequate opportunity to surreptitiously study Keats' eyes. He almost immediately wished he hadn't. What he saw in those eyes caused goose bumps to erupt all over his skin. Those eyes were unfathomable, supernaturally hypnotic, but most of all, they were dark. Not dark in colour, but carried within them a darkness which chilled Dan to the bone.

"It's a shame about that bloke in your department. Woodall, was it?" Dan murmured his ascent. "Can't say I ever met him, but I'd heard good things about him. Was he a mate of yours Dan?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, it's always tough." With those words, Keats placed a hand on Dan's shoulder, creating an unnatural frisson in the air around them. Dan stiffened, muscles tensing with a mixture of fear and revulsion. After what seemed like hours to Dan, but what was, in reality, only a few seconds, Keats removed his hand. Though the momentary contact with Keats had gone, the spot where his hand had lain remained uncomfortably hot. Keats continued.

"It was a shame. I heard he had a boyfriend?" Dan nodded. "Young lads like that. Had their whole lives ahead of them…so he was gay? Bet it was a barrel of fun for him then, working for Hunt and all?"  
"Not exactly," Dan muttered, unwilling to divulge any more than necessary to this man; this man who seemed to suck all the air from wherever he stood. The man with the dark eyes.

"Hunt's never been that accepting. Bet he didn't even give a shit when he died." said Keats.

For the most fleeting of moments, Dan's mind flashed mutinously to Gene's less than impassioned speech at the office, before settling upon Gene holding Woodall in his embrace as he died, talking to him, laughing with him, making the man's final moments bearable. Dan could not see Hunt's face from where he had been standing, but could have sworn he saw a tear fall through the air onto Woodall's face. Dan decided not to answer Keats, he was oddly and instinctively mistrusting of him. Maybe it was because he was the menacing figure who had appeared continually in the corner of his eye over the last week or two, maybe it was his eyes… Maybe it was because Dan's gut told him not to trust as it tied itself repeatedly into knots.

In Keats' eyes, Dan saw the exact opposite of everything that Gene Hunt was. At that particular moment in time, his brain and heart battled to whether that was a good or a bad thing.

"We should talk, you and me Dan. How about a bite to eat? There's a great café just up the road. Can I tempt you?"

Dan had not eaten for over twenty four hours. Since Woodall's death, he had only been able to pick at his food, and couldn't even bring himself to do that earlier. His stomach gave a pang at the prospect of food, but his gut over-ruled it. Something told him not to accept anything from this man. The phrase 'Dining with the Devil' inexplicably sprang to mind.

"No… No thanks, Keats," said Dan, shaking his head, for the first time looking Keats square in the face, subtly challenging him by not addressing him as an inferior would a superior officer, but as equals. Enemies.

And with that, Dan turned on his heel and marched of in the direction of his flat, his face set, not betraying the stab of fear that coursed through him as Keats' voice carried on the wind:

"Don't play hard to get Dan. I always win."


	13. Chapter 12: The Holy City

The next day, Dan could not keep his mind in his work, leaving his team to complete the majority of the basic paperwork required after a case; that the case was about Woodall's abduction and subsequent death made it even more difficult to concentrate, as Dan kept replaying the last moments of Scott's life in his mind. Instead, and to keep his currently fragile emotions about the case down to a minimum, he immersed himself in thoughts about Jim Keats.

The man was clearly deranged and, if those last chilling words were anything to go by; he was willing to do anything to get to Dan, which unnerved him extremely. However, this was also where he found himself at a bit of a loss; that this man wanted him was clear, but for what was a different matter. Dan felt as though he hadn't done much at all since his arrival just over a fortnight ago, although it felt like a lot longer to him. This was what puzzled him about Keats: how could he know so much about him, or was it just a bigheaded claim?

Dan knew he would have much preferred it if it was just a claim, but there was definitely something suspicious about Keats: the devilish glint in his eye, his strange mannerisms and his seemingly unfaltering knowledge made Dan sure that he wasn't calling his bluff.

But that still begged the question of why... And how? Why did this man want to work with Dan? And how did he know so much about him if he'd only been here for such a small amount of time? That led to the final, most important question whizzing around Dan's brain: who was the mysterious Jim Keats?

* * *

After clocking off earlier than he normally would do, considering he often stayed late to finish up some paperwork that the rest of the team had overlooked, Dan made his way out of the station via the back entrance, in the hope of taking a different route home so that he could avoid the street on which he'd met Keats the night before.

As he turned to bolt the metal door behind him, he heard the chilling voice of Jim Keats say, somewhere close by, "Perhaps we should take a walk you and me, we didn't get time yesterday to talk properly."

Dan whirled around to face him, noticing his trench-coated figure hunched by the flight of stairs that lead to the roof. He deliberately placed one foot on the lowest step: his meaning was not lost on Dan.

"No way am I going up there with you!" he exclaimed, eyeing up the man of his nightmares distrustfully. "How do I know you're not just going to throw me off?"

"You can trust me Dan," Keats sneered maliciously, although to someone else it might look as though he was smiling. "Besides, that's not _my_ decision to make..."

Dan considered his next move carefully, no matter how distrustful he was of this man, he still found him intriguing. He seemed the complete opposite of Gene Hunt: with Gene, what you got was what you got, everything he was and everything he believed in appeared to be on the surface, forever on show. You knew where you stood with Gene, good or bad, and he made sure you knew it. Keats on the other hand was a lot more complicated. His thoughts were hidden, his true nature buried so that you didn't know where you stood. His intentions were disguised and his words were intriguing, leaving you to make a decision that, either way, could only be blamed on you. Dan knew that he was either trustworthy or underhand, never in the middle, and there was only one way to find out which, and therefore finally answer the questions that had been bugging him for so long.

* * *

Dan had never been on the roof of CID before, despite wondering what the view must have been like. He was so used to the '2010 view' as he called it, that he had steered clear of observing the city in the 80s. Now he was up here, Dan missed the familiar buildings such as the 'Gherkin' and the HSBC Tower, although the BT tower was a familiar and reassuring presence.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" Keats murmured, his eyes flashing dangerously as he beheld the holy city.

Dan followed his line of sight, sweeping his gaze across the sea of skyscrapers, before nodding, mesmerised by the differences between this and _his_ beloved London, the one he remembered.

"It's a shame it's not real isn't it?" Keats mused, his eyes still focused on the buildings before them before momentarily flicking his penetrating stare to Dan's face to observe his expression.

Having been slow to look at his face, Keats missed the flash of confusion pass across Dan's face.

"It seems pretty real to me," he remarked, aiming to seem cool and collected on the outside so that Keats couldn't detect the apprehension and confusion raging on the inside.

"The imagination has an uncanny ability to create locations in the most vivid detail."

"Hmm," mused Dan. "Clever that it can recreate the late 80s though isn't it? I mean, it's distinctly 80s, down to every last shop on the high street."

"You were alive in the 80s," Keats tried. "Your subconscious has pieced together the bits you remember to make it feel like the 80s, a comfortable memory for you to reside in until you've recovered enough to return to the real world."

"How the hell do you know that I'm not in the real world?" Dan exclaimed, forgetting to be secretive about the truth of his appearance here.

"I know everything about you Dan, I told you that," Keats whispered menacingly, although Dan could tell that he thought he was speaking in a reassuring way. "I can help you get back there Dan, if you'll trust me... I can get you back so you can get Malone, I can get you back to Emily, to your stapler..."

Dan thought about this very seriously: his wish to see Malone nicked was extremely large and overpowering, but he felt an overwhelming sense of loyalty to this place, the people that had accepted him without a second thought and, if he was admitting the truth, to Gene. Dan knew, in his heart, that he could not have survived Malone's attack, that the 'real world' no longer existed to him.

"You can't get me back," he said eventually, shaking his head. "I couldn't have survived that attack."

"You did Dan," Keats urged, almost ferociously, and Dan felt the hairs on the back of neck stand up again, warning him against this feral man. "This place isn't real. If you jumped off this very building you wouldn't die Dan, you'd wake up in a hospital bed in 2010."

The promise was a great one, and Dan knew what he risked by carrying through with it. Slowly, he made his way over to the ledge, the flight of stairs positioned directly behind him. He shifted so that his toes peeped out over the edge. He spoke, his back turned to Keats but his face craning round to speak directly to him;

"So you're saying that if I jump, I won't die, right? I'll just wake up in 2010, my world, the one I should be in?" Keats nodded sensing he was about to jump. "What if I don't want to go back? What if I want to stay here? Okay, I logically _should_ be back there, I shouldn't be in 1988, but I logically _can't_ be back there can I? I couldn't have survived."

"You did Dan, I promise you," Keats urged desperately, sensing the man's resolve weakening.

Dan simply shook his head, stepping safely back onto the roof. "And anyway, I don't want to go back," he said beginning to walk back down the steps, Keats following menacingly. "I'm happy here."

* * *

_This man will never give up_, Dan decided as, yet again, he turned to face the figure of his nightmares.

After pelting down the metal steps, desperately getting away from the roof, Dan had attempted to get as far away from Keats as was physically possible; heading down a side street that lead out onto Wynn Drive and then down an alley so he could double back and head north instead.

Dan had been pretty sure he'd lost his mysterious stalker somewhere along the way: the alley would have provided an echo of the footsteps as Keats followed him down it, but there had been no noise. It was oddly quiet.

He paced down the alley running parallel to CID and came up short. Dan's eyes narrowed imperceptibly as he faced Keats, who stepped out of the darkness. The street light half-covered his face so that shadows remained flickering around his hooded eyes, still holding that malicious twinkle, and his mouth was twisted into an evil smile.

"You can't run away from me Dan," he called hauntingly.

Dan released a breath he didn't know he'd even been holding, summoning up the last of his courage, the last of his belief that he could rid of this man. Dan was positive now, having finally faced this man in reality, that his previous suspicions were right. He trusted his gut instinct; he always had, even if, admittedly, that had sometimes led him into trouble. Fatal trouble he acknowledged with a grim smile. But he'd been given the opportunity to repair that, somehow, the opportunity to continue doing what he was best at: catching the scum, and he'd keep doing that in whatever way he could.

"I think you've provided enough evidence to argue your case there," Dan remarked dryly.

"I'll continue until you realise the truth Dan."

He sighed. "The truth, that's what it always comes down to in this world! Everyone uses that against me. Why doesn't someone, for God's sake, just tell me what's going on? Tell me the truth! I'm a big boy, I can take it... I'm not a five-old child anymore: clutching my teddy as though it's the only thing that can save me from the hardships of the world! I've dealt with shit that most people can only dream of! So for heaven's sake, just tell me what's going on. Surprise me!"

Shaking with the force of his rant, Dan stared straight into the dark, glinting eyes that bored into his skull. "What do you want with me?" he sighed, defeated.

"Join me Dan," Keats whispered, his voice laden with promise. "I can help you discover the truth, if that's what you want... It's what you deserve."

Dan turned away slightly, his head reeling with the offer.

"Gene Hunt can't offer you that," Keats called out. "He guards the truth more forcefully than he guards his officers. Poor Woodall. If his superior wasn't blinded by a deep-rooted hatred of homosexuals, you never know, he might have survived..."

"You have no right to say that!" Dan exclaimed angrily, whirling around to face Keats, his fists clenched. "Gene did everything he could to help find Scott! No-one in our office is to blame."

Keats smirked. "How long did it take to find him again? Ah yes, nearly a week. If it was my department it wouldn't take more than two days... And you can't say that Gene wasn't to blame for his death either, I heard he charged in, all guns blazing; he should have tried to talk him out of it first, appealed to his better nature. But that's not like Gene is it? He can't change, and that's a sure way to lead to the deaths of more of his officers... You're a bright man Dan; don't let yourself become the next casualty."

Dan turned away from Keats again, his words ringing in his ears. He knew the choice he faced was a simple one; choose Keats or choose Gene.

"If I die in the line of duty, doing what I was born to do, then so be it. My only regret about death is not being around long enough to know what it feels like..." he trailed off, realising the pun in his words, as the back of his neck throbbed with the memory. "And I know Gene can't change but I don't want him to. In this world, all I need is a constant. Someone, or something, that doesn't change, is exactly who, or what, their supposed to be. That's Gene."

Keats narrowed his eyes dangerously, stepping forwards slightly. "Join me Dan, and discover a world of constants. I have everything you could ever want."

He sighed, "Look, I can't decide why you're doing this... Temptations don't work on me; I have everything I could want, everything I need! I don't need you Keats, I don't trust you. I'm with Gene."

At those final three words, a figure stepped from the shadows behind Dan, facing Keats. His face shone with triumph.

"Well there you go Jimbo; he said it, so bugger off back where you came from. You failed."

"Hunt," Keats snarled, his face twisting in rage. He turned to Dan, "You'll only ever be spending your life as his lapdog Dan, you better get used to it..."

"I'll look forward to it," Dan commented dryly, watching as Keats snarled, his face contorted in anger. Just before he slipped back into the shadows of the alley, he whispered his parting words: "I'm not finished with you Hartley... One day we'll meet again."

With that he disappeared into the darkness, departing until an opportune time.

Dan turned to face Gene, slightly sheepishly. "You heard everything right?"

Gene nodded. "Everything that slime ball said, he's used at least once already, he could do with getting some more original material."

Dan grinned. "Yeah, it sounded a bit rehearsed. I would have said he practises to his mirror daily, but by the looks of him, he doesn't own one."

He smiled at Gene as they shared a laugh, but sobered up again pretty quickly. "I meant what I said you know, about everything."

"I know," Gene acknowledged gruffly. "But we're in danger of getting soppy here so shut up and get home."

"You're driving," Dan grinned nodding towards the Merc parked further down the road.

"I should bloody 'ope so," Gene smirked. "Come on then Rover."

"No way are you calling me that!" Dan spluttered with laughter. "And nor am I wearing a dog collar!"


	14. Chapter 13: Catching scum Drinking beer

"_Daniel Hartley?" said the man, avoiding the gaze of the little boy as he looked innocently up into his face, clutching a teddy bear at his side. "It's about your Dad mate. He's had to go away." _

"_Oh." said the little boy, "when's he coming back then?" _

"_He's not I'm afraid. I'm sorry mate. But Daddy's not coming back." The little boy looked down at the floor for a moment, and then back up at the man. _

"_Daddy's with Mummy isn't he?" He said miserably, "and the hamster." _

"_Yeah." said the man. _

"_But I'll see Daddy again, won't I?" The man met Dan's gaze for the first time, silvery blue interlocking the large brown of the child's. _

"_Oh." said the man, "I'd bet my life on that one Danny-Boy."_

The Bell and Bridge Inn, London 1990 

"Happy Birthday Danny-Boy!" Gene handed over a card and a small parcel.

"Thanks Guv"

" 'S not much. Drinks are on me tonight."

"Bloody hell it must be a special occasion!" Gene snorted with mirth as Dan opened the envelope and drew out a simple birthday card. Opening it, he grinned at the uncomplicated message scrawled within.

_Dan _

_Happy Birthday_

_The Guv. _

It was Gene Hunt all over. Not florid or emotional, just plain and clean cut. Dan smiled up at Gene, "Tah." He propped up the card on the table and proceeded to open the package. Out fell a small green object. Dan drew his breath in involuntarily. For a moment he could not speak, he only stared dumbstruck at the object in his hands. slowly, he looked up at Gene, wanting to express his thanks but unable to form the words. His gratitude was too great to communicate. Finally, he managed to croak out two words.

"A stapler…" He shook his head, smiling in disbelief. "It's a stapler."

"Yeah." said Gene. "No need to get all…you know…girly over it. Just thought it'd be a bit of a joke. Remember when you first came, you never shut up about staplers."

"I remember." Dan smiled, "Thanks Guv." He clapped Gene on his upper arm in a simple gesture of thanks. Gene nodded in return smiling slightly before his face snapped back into his usual pout. Pocketing the stapler, Dan took a swig of his pint smiling benignly up at Gene. "Great life this, isn't it?"

"Great life," agreed Gene "catching scum, cleaning the streets, drinking beer."

" 'specially the beer." Dan grinned

"I'll drink to that." nodded Gene.

"What won't you drink to?"

"Not much."

Both men chuckled slightly. Their laughter faded away into companionable silence, Dan draining his pint and Gene still nursing his Scotch.

"Remember that Freddy Marshall?"

"Oh Aye," snorted Gene, "that bloke we nicked last year?"

"Yeah, the one in the passenger seat of his Ford Festiva with his trousers down. What was it he were reading?"

"Jane Eyre."

"Kinky sod."

Gene and Dan once again dissolved into laughter. The Bell and Bottle had become their usual haunt, and they could often be seen at their table by the bar, drinking and laughing. Sometimes deep in conversation, and at other times in silence. Dan felt like he knew Gene as well as anyone now. As well as anyone could know Gene Hunt. In the last couple of years they had become close. It was an unspoken friendship. Neither felt the need to tell one another how much the other meant to them, it just wasn't necessary. They were mates, that was it. No need to say anything about it.

They had been through a lot those two. In Dan's eyes, they had become the new Starsky and Hutch, Holmes and Watson, Rosemary and Thyme, Bert and Ernie. They were Hunt and Hartley, the formidable crime-fighting, scum-pounding hero team. Jokingly, Dan had once suggested they get lycra super-hero costumes, but had regretted it almost immediately when he noticed Gene turn white. Dan guessed, correctly, that he was remembering his ordeal at the Spandex Ballet and quickly changed the subject.

Yes, Dan felt like he knew Gene Hunt, but he also knew that he kept some things carefully guarded. Stuff about his past. Dan had never asked him. He didn't want to pry.. He had decided, immediately after the Keats episode to trust Gene even blindly, perhaps he had decided to before then. It was hard to pinpoint an exact date. All Dan knew was that his gut told him Gene was good. Dan had followed his gut and had come out on top, despite being most likely dead. He had a solid and trustworthy friend in Gene Hunt, and in the couple of years that had followed '88, Dan had never felt such a sense of purpose in life, as ironic as it may be. It seemed that getting a few inches of serrated metal in the back of the head had been the best thing ever to have happened to Dan.

"Another?" Gene grunted, gesturing to Dan's empty pint glass.

"Go on then." He grinned lazily, examining the beer mat as Gene shuffled off in the direction of the bar. He returned and sat down, placing a fresh pint before Dan, who watched as it bubbled invitingly. They continued their drinking in silence. This silence, however, was not the usual sort which fell between Dan and Gene, this one felt different. Dan could almost hear Gene's mind racing.

"Penny for them?" asked Dan.

"Just thinking." murmured Gene, not looking up.

"Less thinking, more drinking! Come on, it's my birthday!"

"Yeah…" Gene did not sound enthused.

"Come on then. What you thinking about?"

"Her."

"Ah."

"Yeah." There was a further silence, as Gene swilled his pint and Dan struggled over what to say next. Finally, he replied hesitantly, all too aware of his friend's easily riled nature, especially upon sensitive subjects.

"You…you haven't mentioned her very often. What was her name? Alex Darne?"

"Drake."

"Oh yeah. Who was she?"

"She was me DI about seven or eight years ago."

"You were close?"

"Yeah."

"I hope you don't mind me asking-"

" It's fine."

"Were you…very close?" said Dan, emphasising 'very' to convey his meaning.

"Sort of. Or we would have been…" Gene trailed off, still looking into the depths of his whiskey.

"Where is she now?" pressed Dan

"She left."

"Transfer?"

"Not really." replied Gene. He didn't really want to talk about it, but the nagging voice in the back of his mind (which, coincidentally tended to sound a lot like Alex's had) compelled him to tell Dan. There was just something about him. He was different from the rest.

"Why don't you go and talk to her? If you had an argument of something. I mean, you're obviously

still hung up on her…"

"Can't…she's gone Dan." Dan paused for a moment, trying to be gentle.

"She died?"

"Yeah." Gene regretted not being able to tell Dan the truth. They had to find out for themselves, that was the way it had to be. He consoled himself slightly when he acknowledged that it was not technically a lie. Alex had actually died, but that was before he had known her.

"I'm sorry mate."

"No trouble." Gene finally brought himself to look up at Dan and paste a smile on his face. There was no use getting emotional about this sort of stuff. It's not like he could have changed it. He was stuck here forever. At least she was happy.


	15. Chapter 14: Let Her Leave

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating, the first week of college has been hectic! Updates will be a lot slower from now on.**

**Thanks to oldmagik for help with this chapter, turns out I didn't stick to our plan, but I hope you like it anyway. Thanks for everything!**

"Shaz?"

The young woman turned to face Gene with a startled jump at being addressed directly by a superior. Gene himself was shocked by the name that left his lips; one that used to be so familiar to him. She was exactly as he remembered her: young, and pretty in an odd sort of way. He found it strange that Chris wasn't close by, maybe laughing and joking in the corner with Ray and-... He shook himself out of it before he could go any further and realised that Shaz was still looking at him in shock.

"Erm- Sharon Granger right?"

"Y-yes sir?"

It was at this point that Gene realised he had no idea where he was going with this: he had spoken her name out of the shock of seeing her there.

"Heard good things about you from the Superintendent… promising young cop like you," he smiled, desperately improvising. "Who knows, you could be joining me in CID soon."

Shaz simply smiled nervously, not knowing what Hunt was referring to.

"Um, out on yer first beat are yer?"

"Yes sir."

He nodded, pursing his lips together briefly. He knew he couldn't say too much, give anything away, as much for her as for his DI who was observing the exchange intently.

"Well, erm, good luck anyway," he managed to call out gruffly before she disappeared through the door.

Gene ran his hand briefly across his chin, rubbing his jawbone slightly.

"Who was she?" Dan asked quietly, and Gene noticed the implication of the word 'was'. Dan had seen something in his superior's expression that meant he perceptively changed the word 'is'.

"A friend," Gene managed. "I knew her in 1981."

Dan nodded, his shock changing to confusion. "So she's here, but she went back in time right? Like me? So that means…"

"Yeah," Gene managed. "She was stabbed in the stomach by a car thief on her first beat…" he trailed off as he noticed the shock on Dan's face.

He turned towards the door that Shaz had just walked out of, a look of wild panic on his face. "But we could save her! If we stop her leaving she won't get stabbed and-"

"Keep yer bloody voice down!" Gene hissed.

Dan at least had the good sense to look slightly sheepish as he turned back to Gene. "So we're not going to do anything right? We're just gonna stand here and let her leave. Let her die."

Gene could only nod and watch as his DI stormed out of the room. He could sense that Dan wasn't going to drag Shaz back and so he simply let him leave. _Let him cool down, he'll be back tomorrow._

* * *

Dan pelted down the street, away from CID as fast as he could. He was angry with Gene and he didn't really know why. Shaz'd be fine. _Well not fine_, he amended, _but she builds a life in '81, just like I had to do in '88_. The only problem he had was just letting someone so innocent walk towards _that _unknowingly. She was so young, too young, and it wasn't fair.

His feet were now carrying him absentmindedly down a quiet side street, the silence punctuated only by the distant shrill blare of sirens. Dan was struck by a sudden thought as he made his way unconsciously towards the noise.

_If Gene could meet Shaz in '81, in his lifetime, and then again where she was supposed be... Does that mean, say, in another twenty years I'll meet back up with the team I left in 2010? Could I, theoretically, witness my stabbing and then seize Malone? I mean I will have lived out my time since '88, so I can't really go back again can I? _He paused, screwing up his eyes in confusion._ But it's not as if my body will have disappeared will it? It's not magic, not like I've time travelled from one place to another. I can hardly step over my own body and arrest him can I? It'd be a bit difficult to explain to the ambulance crew and the rest of my office: "Yes, I know it looks like there's two of me, but really, I can explain..." Nah, that'd hardly wash._

Dan was brought out of his reverie by the sounds of shouting and a car alarm bleating shrilly, just around the corner on which he found himself. He wheeled towards the source of the noise, and discovered the sight he knew in his heart that he'd find there.

The hooded man turned and sprinted away from the young woman lying on the floor, clutching her stomach in pain. The robber hardly expected anyone to be hurtling around the corner, unannounced and unarmed so when Dan's fist came seemingly out of nowhere, the man had no time to defend himself, resulting in him falling to the ground, out cold with the impact of the blow. Dan didn't even look back.

Rushing towards the girl, he dropped quickly to the floor and cradled her in his arms. She was losing blood fast. Dan had no radio with him as he was off duty; there was nothing he could do. He rocked her gently as she sobbed, slipping in and out of consciousness. He was tempted to try the thing that Gene had done on Woodall all those years ago, but he wondered if it'd have the effect he wanted: he needed to send her to '81, not… onwards.

"Shaz? Can you hear me?" he tried after a brief spell of silence.

She made a gurgling noise somewhere in the back of her throat, her back convulsing with the agony.

"I'm here, it's Dan, Dan-"

"Dad?" she croaked.

"No, no. Dan, Daniel Hartley," he managed, dispelling thoughts of _that_ word. "It's okay, you'll be okay, I promise..."

She simply managed a crooked smile. Her breathing quickened and she shook in Dan's arms. Her last shuddering breath came in a brief rasp before the light left her eyes, her body sagging.

A single tear dropped onto her face unchecked before Dan wiped his eyes furiously with the back of his hand. There was nothing he could have done.


	16. Chapter 15: The Big Men

"Dan."

Dan turned at the sound of the voice. He had known Gene would be there, in the shadows. Placing Shaz's body gently on the ground, he stood up to face his superior officer, his hands covered in the young woman's blood.

"Why Gene?"

"Never mind that Danny Boy…I think it's time I took you to The Pub."

Instinctively, Dan knew what Gene was referring to. Only one man would enter that pub, and no man would come out once he was inside.

Falling into step with Gene, Dan allowed himself to be led around the corner around which, he knew, The Railway Arms had not been before.

This was it.

Gene stopped several paces away from the strangely ethereal building before them, it's silvery light the only thing to illuminate the otherwise dingy alleyway. A single lamp post stood alight, almost

perpendicular to the door, it was under this which Gene and Dan had come to a halt, the almost eerie light forming a halo around the two men, as a spotlight upon their goodbye. Gene turned to his friend, and Dan noticed the change in his face, the hidden vulnerability behind those blue-grey eyes now more apparent than ever before.

"Here Dan."

"What?"

"You're here."

"Yeah."

"Go on then."

"What? In there?"

"Where else?"

"looks a bit shit to be honest."

"Do you know what this place is?"

"Don't take a genius, Guv." There was a pause for a moment as Dan studied the drawn, aged face of the man before him, looking, first at the sign reading 'The Railway Arms' -as it swung silently on its chain without a whisper of breeze-and then shifting his gaze to the heavy wooden door, the frosted windows betraying nothing but the occasional glimpse of a shadowy figure within. In contrast to the chills now creeping up Dan's spine, Gene, for the first time since Dan had known him, looked inspired, almost wistful. It was a while before Gene spoke again.

"Bet you've got some mates in there, Danny Boy."

"Nothing on you."

"Aye."

Silence fell again as the two men directed their gaze back to the pub. One of the figures moved towards the door, closer than any other had come before, the figure of a man became clearer and clearer as he drew nearer.

"Here we go," muttered Gene as the figure reached out a blurry hand and the door swung open, light flooding the dark pavement. He stepped out onto the concrete and stood beneath the swaying sign before smiling and raising his arms, palms flat in a gesture of welcome.

"Nelson." Acknowledged Gene, nodding as the ghost of a smile played around his lips.

"Mr Hunt, Mon Brave. I see you got another one for me?"

"Another?" Dan croaked, his mind racing. Of course he had worked out what this place was long ago, almost as soon as he had walked into the office and found his stapler missing. He whipped around to face Gene as the final piece of the puzzle dropped into place. "Alex Drake? She's in there, isn't she? That's what you do, you drop them off!"

"You'll make a detective yet, Danny boy." muttered Hunt, not shifting his gaze from the man standing outside the pub.

"I'll leave you two to talk it out then." smiled Nelson, "See you about." He retreated back into the building, snatches of sound, music and excited chatter leaking from within.

A companionable silence fell between the two friends, for a moment not DI and DCI, but as equals in the equating light shed from the almost 'other worldly' lamp post. As if on cue, both men turned to face one another.

"Dan. This may come as a shock…"

"I'm dead, I know." shrugged Dan, casually.

"You know-?"

"Oh come on Gene." grinned Dan, before continuing in a voice of mock confusion. "Who's side do I pick, Gene or Keats? Him with his Temptations of Christ! I'm not thick, you know! And I'd like to meet the man who can survive with an inch long bit of metal lodged in his cerebellum."

"Cere- what?"

"Bit of yer brain."

"Right…" Gene fell silent and continued to contemplate Dan who, with a small smile, jerked his head towards the glowing grey bricked building as he spoke.

"You going in then?"

"No. That's your job."

"What would they want me in there for?"

"You know now, you're ready to move on," grunted Gene, as if stating the obvious.

"Know now?" repeated Dan, "I've known for months Gene, years really. I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't be a dick. Get your arse in there now , and that's an order Hartley!"

"Oh come on. Guv, you know as well as I do that we're past the order stage now." At this, Gene let out a low guttural noise somewhere between a laugh and a growl. "Why me anyway? If you ask me, you look like you could do with retirement. You've said yourself you could drink me under the table and still stay sober enough to order a curry on the way home. 'S more your scene that." Dan tried to catch Gene's eye, who avoided Dan's, instead looking down at his own snakeskin boots, and it was these he addressed as he answered Dan, a note of sadness creeping into his words.

"You say you worked it all out. Yer not as clever as you reckon, Danny Boy. I stay here. That's the way it is. I'm different from what they were, and I'm different from you. I've got to carry on, see. Now stop being an awkward old sod and get in there. Get one in for me while you're at it."

"Don't try that one with me. Bet that's what you said to the rest of 'em isn't it? They'd never have left you if they thought you weren't following. And me and you Gene…different? My arse we're different!" He let out a derisive snort before adding: "Tell me, how did you die?"

Gene looked up, and for a moment he was, once again, the young man, skin smooth and unlined. The vision was fleeting however, and once again stood the older man, although, in his eyes, the child remained.

"I died being a dick. Thought I was the big man. Went waltzing into trouble. Kicked a door down, thought I'd stop a burglary, be the big 'ero. Then, bang, bullet to the face."

"That sounds familiar."

"Oh yeah?"

"Went against orders, followed my gut, always led me right. Shame I became the latest in a long line of murders. We were both reckless, but we both got what we wished for. We're the Big Men, untouchable, feared and revered. It was good for a while, wasn't it? Then you met the girl… Feels shit now, doesn't it? More like a curse than a wish? That's how I know you're ready to go."

Gene opened his mouth as if to respond, but was silenced by the look in Dan's eyes as he continued:

"I know more than the rest of 'em. Like what you did to Woodall, when he died. That was more than just holding him, wasn't it, putting your hands on his face like that? You sent him here, didn't you?"

Gene nodded, shocked. "You can go now. It's all yours. God knows you've worked hard enough for it."

"But I've got to stay." replied Gene, simply, his voice braking.

"Cheer up, you poof." Said Dan, raising a reluctant smile to Gene's face. "What's the difference between you here or me here? Nothing. We're the same, you and me, now that we've both changed, coming into line with one another. I had everything you needed, and you had everything I needed. I can do it. I really can."

A part of Gene's old self came back to him as he gave the snappy retort:

"Don't talk bollocks Danny Boy. I've always been the very figure of perfection."

"Even so, I'm bored of you now. Bugger off, go and get bladdered."

"No, I can't just dump it on you. It's no walk in the park, you know. It hurts you know, when-"

"Shut up Gene"

"…Are you sure?""More than sure."

Gene fell silent, studying his boots once more. He returned his gaze to Dan as he spoke, a new strength within him, inspired by the glimmer of hope, the life-ring Dan had thrown.

"I'm sure that your long owed a promotion. Call me a bit forward but I've put a good word in for you with my superiors, that you were more than qualified for my job should I suddenly disappear. So as of now you can consider yourself a DCI I'd bet."

For a minute or so neither spoke. The silence fell like a dense fog around them. Wordlessly Dan stepped from the ring of light, allowing it to fall fully upon Gene, illuminating his features, softening them, genuinely, this time, reawakening a spark of youth. Gene seemed to glow as he stood, alone in the light, with nothing but serenely drifting flecks of dust for company. Dan sensed something change in the man to whom he had become so close in the last couple of years, a new sense seeming to appear there.

As Gene turned his face to Dan once more, the shadows once again engulfed him.

"Look after it for me…" Gene paused for a moment before adding: "…Guv"

"What else would I do?" smiled Dan.

And with that, Gene stepped one tentative foot from the light. Gaining confidence, he crossed to the doorway, almost braking into a run as he did so. The street lamp flickered, guttered and died. Gene paused for a moment, one hand upon the door handle before turning, once again to face Dan, whose face was hard to distinguish from shadows as Gene squinted in the dazzling light emanating from the frosted windows.

"Thank you."

Gene opened the door as Dan watched him cross the threshold, no sound issued into the night from the open door, but as the tails of Hunt's coat followed him through the entrance, the heavy door slammed, echoing unrealistically, the sound almost tinny, reverberating off the terraced houses, before fading away with a sound like static. Dan watched through the frosted windows as the heavy set figure slouched into the room behind the door. He watched as a crowd of shadows surged forwards, welcoming him. Dan watched as the imprint of a woman detached itself from the throng and pulled the figure of Gene into a tight embrace. Dan's spirit soared as the scene faded away.

* * *

"_The things that began to happen to them were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us, this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before."_

_-The Last Battle, CS Lewis_

* * *

Dan had not noticed the sun begin to rise as he stood alone on the potholed concrete, although felt its warmth on the back of his head and neck. He turned to the dawn as it bathed the alleyway in it's milky glow. Dan closed his eyes and luxuriated in its embrace, feeling his hair flutter as the breeze began. The night had seemed oddly airless, almost stiflingly so, but in contrast to that stillness, the London alley now seemed to burst with light, and energy, and life, and movement.

He chanced a glance back towards the place where one journey ended and another began, but found that it had vanished. Only the lamp post remained. Dan smiled and turned away again.

The sun had set upon Gene's time and had risen upon his. He breathed in the sweet smell of sunrise and felt himself, almost mechanically moving to greet it. It was his now, all of it. His to keep clean, his to protect. He was to guide them all, guide them here. He was the Big Man now. He was unbreakable.


End file.
